Fairest of the Fae
by missmelly
Summary: Is Eric falling in love? Eric, Sandy, Niall, and Felipe are owned by Charlaine Harris and I claim no rights to them.
1. Chapter 1

When he pulled into the parking lot, she was sitting in the bed of a beat up pickup truck, finger picking a complicated melody on her guitar. He had to park right next to her—it was the only open space. As he got his papers organized for his meeting and started to get out of his car, he realized she was softly crooning words as she played: " ...and I drive the main road, searching in the sun for another overload... "

The song was familiar, but not immediately identifiable, and he turned to look at her. She was wearing a battered cowboy hat that cast a shadow over her face, but the glorious line of her jaw was highlighted in the glow of the parking lot lights. As she sang the next lines—"I hear you singing through the wires, I can hear you through the whine,"—she lifted her face to him and looked right into his eyes. Her eyes were emerald green.

He felt the jolt right down to his groin. Rarely in his thousand year old existence had he been so shocked. The surprise of it made him grab his papers and stride away. As he entered the dark bar, the glow of her eyes danced in his vision.

In the darkened bar, his eyes immediately found the small curvaceous vampire he was looking for, and he stepped toward her. "Sandy," he greeted her matter-of-factly. "Eric," she responded with a nod.

"How is the King?" Eric asked.

Sandy responded, "He is well, although busy," then motioned for him to follow her. "Let's go into the office."

As Eric followed the petite vampire toward the back of the large room, he had time to observe her tailored business suit and collar length silver hair. She was relatively young—maybe 70 or so—but moved with purpose. As the King's rep, she had great power, and therefore Eric did not like her.

Inside the wood-paneled office, Sandy stepped aside, and Eric got the impression of papers, mugs and glasses, books, computer disks, and general clutter—it almost made his nose wrinkle (his own desk at home was clean and typically clear of anything but that which required his immediate attention). The human behind it stood and wiped his hand on his pants before extending it. Eric merely looked at the proffered hand.

Sandy introduced them: "Eric Northman, this is Al Ailling. He owns Diablo's."

Al dropped his hand and nodded at Eric. "Take a seat," he said sourly, then added, "please." Eric looked at the chair seat, half expecting to see food crumbs, although the chair appeared clean. He sat and studied Ailling; he saw an older man, weathered and ruddy, with a large belly stretching the placket of his cowboy shirt. His hair was thinning, lank, and less than clean, and there was grime under his nails. Ailling saw Eric studying his hands and curled his fingers under, muttering something about working on his truck.

Sandy reached into an exquisite leather briefcase, withdrawing a thumb drive and handing it to Ailling. He popped it into the computer on his desk and turned the screen so Eric could see it. Sandy said to Eric, "As you have seen in the report I sent you, the King is not pleased with Diablo's revenues. Since his newest hotel… " and here she interrupted herself to ask, "Are your accommodations satisfactory?" Eric nodded, and she continued, "Since the King's newest property caters specifically to the undead community"—Eric noted Ailling flinch—"Filipe would like Diablo's to be more, ah… _attractive_ to that clientele." Ailling shifted uneasily in his chair.

Sandy fixed him with her laser glare. "Al, you have something to say?"

"No offense meant, Mz. Seacrest, but I don't want them kind in my bar."

Eric's fangs ran out a bit at the man's gall, and he shot a glance at Sandy, before speaking to Ailling, "What 'kind' would that be?"

"No offense to you neither, Mr. Northman. But the fangbangers are mostly trash. They don't spend much money, take up space, and bleed all over everything."

Eric almost smiled at that; in the early days of operating his bar Fangtasia, in northern Louisiana, he had felt the same way. But the human fascination with vampires was unceasing, and where there were cities that never sleep—Las Vegas was one—there were vampires. And where there were vampires, there was money to be made from those gawking cows known as humans.

He chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. He hit Ailling with the full force of his blue eyes, letting them show amusement and something close to warmth. "I know just what you mean, Al. May I call you Al?" He felt Sandy's eyebrows go up at this most un-Eric question, but Ailling visibly relaxed. Eric thought, _This is going to be easier than I expected. I will be home in a week._

Sandy motioned to the spreadsheet on the monitor, and began outlining the bar's monthly take vs. expenditures. Eric was only partly listening, his ear caught by the sound of a female voice singing out in the bar. He snapped back to attention when he heard Sandy say, "Why don't you get a drink while we wait for Frederick?"

"Frederick? Frederick Lander?" Eric asked, and Sandy nodded. "I was not aware he owed the King fealty."

"He was sent here by Virginia"—here Sandy was referencing the Queen of the central Atlantic states (Eric was well versed in the vampires' attractions to puns and low humor—it was not for nothing that he had chosen Fangtasia as the name of his bar—but Virginia took the name Regina Betta when she became Queen, as a bad play on Virginia's original namesake; he allowed himself a moment of remembering Sophie-Anne's sophistication and elegance. He had admired his late Queen greatly.)—"when he, ah… caused some difficulties there.

Eric had heard about those "difficulties." When vampires kill other vampires, the news travels fast. Usually there are stiff monetary penalties to be paid, and often, reparations must be made to the killed vampire's maker. Eric had heard that Frederick Lander made a habit of staking vampires who crossed him, and he speculated that Lander was pledged to Felipe to work off the massive fines levied against his crimes. Eric wondered briefly if there had been a tribunal to pass judgment on Lander, and why he had not himself been sacrificed as a trouble maker. He also wondered at the wisdom of the King employing an out-of-control murderer.

The silence had stretched too long, and Sandy was staring at Eric through her entirely unnecessary glasses. "Why is Lander coming?" Eric interjected into the silence.

"He will be taking over Diablo's operations once your consultation ends." She did not register Ailling's unhappy face, but Eric did; he generally disdained humans, but when they were happy, they worked hard and were useful—and it was so easy to make them happy. Eric stood up and stretched, more to show his height and physic to Ailling, who looked duly impressed and predictably frightened. Eric turned his electric gaze to the man once again, and extended his hand—Ailling took it without thinking, almost drawing away at Eric's coolness. Ailling's hand was unpleasantly moist, but Eric refrained from wiping his on his jeans as he said with studied sincerity, "I look forward to working with you, Al." Sandy looked at him carefully, then nodded once toward the bar.

When Eric emerged from the office, he realized the voice to which he had been half listening during the meeting was the performer onstage. It was the girl from the pickup truck. She sat alone on a tall stool in the middle of the low platform, her face still in shadow from the brim of her hat; the stage lights were glinting off bits of metal on a leather thong wrapped around the crown of her hat. From this distance, they looked like small bronze figures. Eric's curiosity was piqued. He leaned on the bar, taking her in, the thought of her eyes swimming through his mind.

Even though she was seated, he could see she was tall. She was slender, with legs that went on forever, encased in worn, skinny jeans. Under her battered suede jacket, he got a sense of natural bounty—as she moved, the stage lights shone down the open collar of her denim work shirt, numerous jewelry chains glimmered in her generous cleavage. He could feel the urge to lick her there rising in him like a summer storm. What was going on? Normally, Eric didn't even notice human women. Something in the smoky husk of her voice went right under his skin.

Just as he was about to turn to the bartender to order a blood, she started the intricate fingering for the song he'd heard her playing in the parking lot, and he could not turn away. He found himself watching her impossibly full lower lip, revealed just under the edge of the shadow obscuring her face. Her lip, as she sang, was moist and pink—Eric could not tear his eyes away. She reached the second chorus—"...and I need you more than want you, and I want you for all time..."—and her face lifted to him, her eyes pouring directly into his.

Eric's knees actually caved and he sat on the bar stool behind him—he was glad it was there, or he would have stumbled. Eric was not the stumbling kind. He was cool, collected, and in full possession of himself. A tremble went through his body. How had she known he was standing there? Who was she? Eric had existed entirely too long to believe this girl was a coincidence.

Before he could completely gather his thoughts, the girl stopped playing, and the announcer spoke, "Gals and pals, please give a round of applause for Rio Brigant; Rio is gonna take a break and she'll be back in a while with more songs for you. I hope you'll join us during the break while we spin some of your favorite line dancing tunes!" At the mention of her name, Eric felt his eyes widen and he stared at her as she left the stage, making her way over to the bar. "Brigant," he thought," I know only one Brigant." And again, totally counter to his nature, Eric found himself wondering what was going on.

He watched the girl stop at a table to talk with the couple sitting there; she rested a long-fingered, graceful hand on the man's shoulder as she talked to them. Even at that distance, his heightened hearing could tell her voice was low and sweet, with the same husky quality of her singing voice. As she continued to the bar, he could feel his eyes consuming her, but his confusion was overcome by his growing curiosity. Just as she was about to order a drink, he stepped up to the bartender and said," I'd like an O Negative, warmed, and the lady will have a... " as he turned to give her a questioning look.

The girl looked him up and down, her eyes taking several seconds to travel up and up his length. She raised one blonde eyebrow, and without looking at the bartender, she said," A bourbon and ginger ale, no ice." As she held Eric's eyes, she raised her hand to her hat and lifted it off, releasing a torrent of gold hair. She closed her eyes and swung her head to shake her hair down her back, where it tumbled to her waist, flashing red highlights in the waves of it.

Eric's mouth didn't water so much as his entire body did, and without planning it, he took a step in her direction. She didn't seem to mind how close he was, placing her hat on the bar without shifting her gaze from his. She inclined her head to him, rather than hold out her hand for the typical human handshake, and introduced herself, "I am Loriola Brigant; my friends call me Rio." Her voice caressed the word "friends." Eric's eyes bored into hers. By not offering her hand, and by inclining her head, she was indicating her recognition of him as a vampire; most humans took a while to realize that he was other. He collected his thoughts and responded, "I am Eric Northman."

She studied his pale, handsome face. "I don't recognize you," and here she took in his creased jeans, crisp white shirt, and suit jacket, "and you aren't from around here." It was a statement, not a question. Eric merely raised an eyebrow at her astuteness. He replied, "I am assisting Sandy," and here he nodded toward the office, "in improving the bar's operations."

"Ah," was all the girl said, and she swung around to face the bar, lifting her booted foot to the bar rail with a move so graceful it was like she was a lioness in human skin. The bartender sat down her drink, and showed Eric the warmed bottle of blood, asking if he wanted a glass. Eric shook his head, aware that the girl watched his long blonde hair move across his shoulders.

"I live in Louisiana," Eric said, watching her closely. Did she tense up a tiny bit at that? She sipped her drink and he was again riveted by her mouth. Her upper lip was shorter than her lower, pulling into a classic cupid's bow. Her lip on the rim of her glass was plump. She turned to face him, licking a droplet of liquid from her lower lip with a pointed tongue. Eric felt a rumble low in his throat, and before it could escape, he forced out the words, "I know a Brigant in Louisiana." It sounded more strangled than he would have liked.

At that, she merely smiled, a small, amused lifting of the corners of her delectable mouth. She turned her back to him, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders for him to take. It felt warm and her heat rose off her, registering on his skin. She lifted her hands into the soft waves of her hair, raising it up off her neck like silken threads of spun fire, exposing her nape covered with short golden curls damp from her sweat. Eric groaned, then coughed to cover the sound. In his confusion he turned to his blood, leaning his elbows on the polished wood of the bar.

The DJ was spinning a Texas two-step, and the girl slid her hand into his, pulling. "Dance with me," she said. Again, not a question.

"Rio," Eric started, but she interrupted, "See? Already a friend," and pulled him out onto the dance floor in front of the bar. There were several couples already dancing in a two-stepping circle, men holding women by one hand as the pairs moved in time. Eric was suddenly reluctant to touch this girl. It wasn't that she was repellant—exactly the opposite—he thought if he put his hand on her waist, he might... what, exactly? Eric's confusion was troubling him.

Rio spun inside his arm, still holding his hand, and grabbed his other to place on her waist. He couldn't remember ever performing this dance, but it seemed fairly simple and he had always been comfortable with physical things. He followed her easily. She was supple and warm under his hand—for all her willowy grace, he could tell she was muscular. She was shorter than he was—most people were—but not by a lot—kissing her would be easy. Eric shook his head to clear it. He craved this girl in a way that was rare for him, something he had experienced only three times in his long, long life. The last time had been about twenty or so years ago, and it had not gone well. This girl made him feel exactly like that: he wanted her from the moment he laid eyes on her and he wanted her more than blood. She smelled warm and salty, like the beach when he was a boy; he had not thought of being human for a long while. Suddenly, he had to know.

He pulled her closer into his embrace and murmured toward her ear, "The Brigant I know is called Niall. I haven't seen him for a very long time."

She didn't miss a step. Without turning her head, she replied very softly, "He is my great-grandfather. I have not seen him for a while either."

Eric's steps did not falter, but his mind reeled. The magnificent creature he held in his grasp was Sookie Stackhouse's daughter.

The music ended and the DJ announced, "Folks, give us a few minutes and Rio Brigant will be back on stage to sing for you." At that, Rio slipped from his grasp, snagged her hat and jacket off the bar, and turned to face him; he noticed a faint spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and wondered where else on her body they appeared. She bent over from the waist and bundled her hair in her hands, twisting the silken length of it several times into a rope; as she stood up, she twined the rope of hair around her head, and shoved the hat on her head to douse its fire underneath.

Rio cast her deep green eyes across his face, lingering on his mouth. "I'll be seeing you, Northman. But for now, I need to get back to the stage."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chap 2**

Eric had hoped to settle in at the bar and listen to Rio sing; her voice was husky like that of a smoker—he instinctively knew she had never smoked—or someone recovering from a cold. It vibrated inside him like the low notes on a cello, and it carried the sounds of wind, waves, and seabirds in it.

But before he could finish his blood, he felt a presence at his shoulder. He reached out with his vampire senses. A fellow vampire.

"Lander," he said very quietly, not wanting to intrude on the girl's soft singing.

"Eric!" boomed the other vampire, "the King said you'd be here!" Most of the eyes in the bar cut to them quickly, then flicked away.

Eric stood up—he could not bear the thought of the girl's singing being ruined by this crass being—and led the way back to the office. The other vampire trailed him in. Sandy was in downtime, absolutely still in her chair, while Ailling peered at his computer screen, sipping from a coffee cup. Eric could smell the whiskey mixed in the coffee.

Sandy lifted her head, then stood up. "Frederick," she acknowledged his arrival, "You've met Eric Northman?" The vampire nodded, and Eric turned to study him. What he saw was a big bear-like being, standing in an insouciant slouch, his hair a mess of dark blond curls, his chin covered in stubble, his hands in his pockets. Eric estimated his turning at about 170 years ago; as a human, Lander had been in his mid-forties. He was not handsome, but projected an aura of capability and resilience. Of course, he was pale, but his face was creased with the fine wrinkles of sun exposure; as a human, he must have worked out of doors. He actually wore a jacket with fringe. Eric was only familiar with those from the human movie form called westerns. He could not recall ever seeing such a garment on an actual being.

Sandy spoke with clipped efficiency, "Frederick, you remember Al Ailling?" The two stared at each other; only Ailling nodded. Sandy continued, "Let's get started." Lander took off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair, and he sat, positioned to see the monitor. Ailling popped in the thumb drive that Sandy had given him earlier, and Eric caught a fleeting look of something close to predation on Lander's face.

Sandy moved to stand behind Ailling. He touched the screen with a big-knuckled finger, moving information around at Sandy's direction. Eric's business sense followed her comments easily, but a small part of his mind wondered about Lander's involvement. He was going to prove difficult to work with at best.

Sandy outlined bar expenditures versus revenue produced in a dry, lecturing tone. Profits were generally faltering, although certain nights showed a generous take; she indicated this discrepancy should be further explored. She spoke unendingly of vendors, distributors, customers, and gimmicks. Eric could follow her in his sleep. Nothing she said was a reach for him. It was all things he'd dealt with opening and operating Fangtasia.

Every time Sandy disparaged falling profits, Lander snickered. He was a bully, and Eric felt his irritation growing as Sandy did nothing to rein Lander in. Ailling became more withdrawn and uncommunicative, fidgeting and taking big gulps of his whiskey-laced coffee, which he replenished from a thermos on his desk. Eric knew, given time alone with Ailling, he could come to an understanding with the man, garnering his full cooperation, even making the human think he'd come up with the idea of relinquishing the bar's operations on his own. Eric would not have needed his glamour, only his business acumen as an expert negotiator. His time was being wasted, his expertise shunned. He was restless with ill-disguised frustration.

As the numbers Sandy went over became more and more disappointing, Ailling got more defensive and Lander more belligerent. He paced the office like a sluggish zoo animal, although at one point—when Ailling protested Sandy's reading of his figures—Eric thought Lander might lunge at Ailling. While that might be briefly amusing, it would prolong an already tiresome meeting. But Sandy finally quelled Lander with a glare, and he withdrew, skulking back to his chair. He sat silent the rest of the meeting, practically sucking his big bear paws and pouting. "Loser," Eric thought, remembering a term he'd always appreciated, although it was no longer in fashion.

Eric snapped to full attention when Ailling rose stiffly from his chair and said, "Mz. Seacrest, if you'll excuse me, I have to see to my performer before she leaves." Something in Ailling's tone when he said performer—a tenderness, perhaps—caught Eric's ear. Sandy held up a hand to make him wait, while she formally closed the meeting: "I think that will be all for tonight, gentlemen."

Lander stood. "I've got to get back to Vegas. The King has me doing all sorts of important things," he said sarcastically. Then he said to Eric, "I'll be back in a couple of days to finish up with you."

"Good," Eric responded, "That will give me time to thoroughly review the records." He inclined his head toward the thumb drive in Ailling's hand. Lander had already started to take the thumb drive, but he pulled back at Eric's statement, obviously angered. Eric and Lander faced off, giving each other an alpha-male stare; Eric could not believe Lander's cheek. Eric likely had 800 years on the other vampire, and operated businesses all over northern Louisiana. The King himself had called in Eric to consult on this new project. What was Lander's game?

Lander shrugged into his jacket—Eric could barely prevent his lip from curling at the silly fringe—and turned to give Sandy a deep nod before leaving the office.

After receiving a nod from Sandy, Ailling held out the thumb drive to Eric. Eric lifted a hand to refuse, saying, "I'd prefer to study the records here. That way all the information stays in one place. May I use your computer after hours?"

Both Sandy and Ailling looked taken aback, then Ailling looked pleased. At least one damned vamp was showing him some respect. His voice was gracious when he said, "Sure, my desk is your desk."

Eric inclined his head to Ailling, then said, "Sandy, might I speak with you, outside?" Creature of few words, she nodded and led the way out of the office. Eric glanced quickly at the stage and the girl still playing there before motioning Sandy to the door.

In the parking lot, he stood close to her on purpose, so she would have to tip her head way back to look him in the face; he towered over her. "What exactly is the King playing at?" Eric demanded. "Lander is a dangerous fool. Why does the King show me the disrespect of working with a thieving murderer? I could have managed this alone, with the human's full cooperation, then Lander could have come in for the clean up." Anger tensed his entire body.

Sandy raised one eyebrow, and in a tone Eric could only think of as haughty, replied, "I am _sure_ the King himself can answer your questions when I tell him you'd like to meet with him regarding your, ah… uncertainty about his project."

Eric was immediately chastened. His position with the King was tenuous at best, being the only Louisiana sheriff who had survived Felipe De Castro's hostile takeover of Louisiana and Arkansas. The King himself was not above murder, having ordered death of Eric's queen while she was injured and far from recovery.

"You may tell _our_ King," Eric stressed the possessive, "that I am here to do his bidding and I anticipate things proceeding smoothly."

Sandy smiled coldly. "I will relay your message. Now I too must take my leave. Call me with your progress."

Eric gave a short bow which almost had him kissing the top of her head, as Sandy spun on her fabulously expensive heel and marched to her car.


	3. Chapter 3

Eric was leaning against the side of his car, inhaling the night, when someone switched off the neon Diablo's sign. He was mulling over the evening's business, irritated that it would be trickier than he'd expected, when he heard Rio say something in a loving tone—was she saying goodnight to Ailling?—and watched her emerge from the darkened doorway. She was carrying her guitar by its neck, swinging it in rhythm to the long pendulum stride of her endless legs; the rodeo heels of her boots gave her a slight swagger and her breasts bounced just a little inside her denim shirt. Her head was tilted down, her hat brim covering her face until she was almost upon him. She stopped about a yard from the toes of his shoes and slowly, deliberately raised her head until her eyes, black in the darkness, met his.

"Northman," she said in that cigarette voice. "Rio," he responded and was rewarded with a broad smile, revealing even white teeth. "See?" her smile resonated in her voice, "I told you: already friends."

Eric let his eyes wander all over her, memorizing her. She stood still and watched him take her in. After he had taken the measure of her long legs—almost as long as his—her boyish hips, her tanned arms, her lithe neck, her proud, straight shoulders, her refined jaw line, her full mouth with its slowly spreading smile, her perfect nose spattered with freckles, and the deep pools of her eyes under slightly raised brows, he said, so softly it was more a movement than a sound, "Your hat."

Rio raised her hand, grasping the brim between thumb and fingers, running them around the brim to the back and tipping the hat forward. Her hair fell across her face and shoulders with an audible whisper, silk woven from strands of copper and gold. She swung her body from her narrow waist, lifting her hair around her shoulders to fall behind her. As if he could not help himself, Eric stepped up to her. He gently took her guitar and hat and laid them in the back of her truck. Then he sunk his hands in her hair where it poured down her back past her shoulders. It was so soft that if not for its weight, he would almost not feel it. It smelled like rain. He pulled it forward, drawing her close, and she shut her eyes, parting her lips. To his total surprise, her long fingers tucked into his pockets as she swayed against him.

Eric inhaled to draw in her scent: down past the bar smells of beer and tobacco and grease and human, she was like an ocean breeze, salty and moist. Moving with measured slowness, he bent slightly, touching the tip of his tongue to her freckles, one after another, until a low "mmmmmm" escaped her. Her fingers curled inside his pockets. She went up on her toes, pressing her breasts against his chest until her mouth found his. For a second, she stood just like that, perfectly still, then she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and held it between her teeth. Eric groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

Sensing his need to speak, Rio released his mouth, but otherwise stood exactly as she was, pressed against him with no air space in between.

All Eric could think of to say was, "Umm." What was happening to him? As if reading his mind, Rio spoke against his mouth, "I live real close." Then she rotated her body on his without breaking contact, turning around with her back to him and opening her truck door. Eric sunk his face into her hair at her nape—wiling her to stay—nuzzling down past her collar to the skin. She sighed and arched her back, pressing her firm round rump against his growing hardness. He nipped her neck and sucked her skin into his mouth a little. Without losing contact with his hips, she leaned forward, pressing her palms on her truck's seat. For a split second, Eric's surprise held him motionless, but to make her invitation perfectly clear, she unbuckled her belt, unzipped her jeans and started pushing them down around her knees. She wasn't wearing any panties. Her bottom was smooth and tight like two basketballs covered in peach fuzz and she was completely tanned—no bikini lines. Eric growled.

Rio raised up on her toes, presenting herself to him, and he didn't need to be asked again. His fingers entered her—and he was stopped by how wet and tight she was— before teasing and stretching her. She was swinging her hips slightly, and tightening her inside muscles to grab his fingers and pull them in. The sensation was incredible, and Eric gasped. He could not believe that he was feeling hot, like he'd had a blood meal. He unzipped his jeans and using his thumbs to open her, he steadied himself at her entrance. She was making tiny noises like an anxious kitten, and he pressed into her just a bit. She tried to back onto him, but he held her firm. "Northmaaaannnn," she moaned and with deliberate, teeth-clenching slowness, he parted her. She was so tight, and he so large, he wasn't at all sure he'd make it all the way in, but she backed into him until he was totally buried in her heat, and they both stopped still, savoring that feeling until she started dancing on her toes.

Eric gathered up her hair, weaving his fingers into it, and used it to pull her head up and back until her spine swayed into an arc. Then he leaned over her, slipping his hand up under her shirt to explore her breasts. No bra either. Her breasts were warm in his hands and her nipples were hard. He pinched them gently and that made her buck back into him and it was his turn to moan. Before he could make a move, Rio slid forward and almost completely off him, then slammed back. He picked up her need, making long strokes, and adjusting his angle a little each time, searching for her special spot. He knew when he found it, because all Rio's internal muscles grabbed him like a hand and air escaped her in a hiss, "Yessss. Northman, Yes. Northman. Yes, Northman," and he followed her rhythm, feeling himself building toward a climax just hearing her smoky voice sing-songing his name. As he hammered her spot, he moved a hand between her legs to rub her swollen nub. Rio cried, "_Eric_," and came, and her inner pulses brought him to his own peak.

He sagged over her for a moment, feeling almost dizzy from the speed of his arousal and completion. Then he lifted off her, memorizing her fabulous bare ass as he zipped up his jeans. He bent to plant a kiss on one cheek then the other, and raised up her jeans, sorry to be covering up all that beauty. With a sigh, she hoisted herself upright, pulling herself behind the steering wheel of her truck. She fixed him with her bottle green gaze. He could not stop himself from smoothing a strand of her hair from her face. She repeated the last words she had spoken—not counting the "Northman!" and "Eric!"—in her mellow voice: "I live real close."

He smiled gently, and said, "I would love nothing more, but I cannot." He started to explain to her, as he usually had to explain to others, that as a vampire, he needed a secure light-proof sleeping place, and he had such an arrangement at the King's hotel. But to his astonishment, she said, "At my house, there will be no sunlight while you sleep. No harm will come to you there."

He raised his eyebrows at that, disbelieving. But with a couple of hours until dawn, and the promise of her gorgeous body ahead of him, he reasoned to himself, "_Why not_?" He nodded to her that he understood—even though he really didn't—what _was_ happening to him?—and got in his car, saying, "I'll follow you."

Somehow he knew she'd drive like a bat out of hell, and he was ready. The roads were relatively quiet, and his Corvette loved to go, so he followed her easily, tearing down the 3 a.m. streets. He had barely gotten up speed when she pulled over against the curb in front of a ramshackle house with peeling paint and a sagging porch—she _did_ live close.

He got out of his car, and she was waiting beside him, a huge grin lighting up her face. Somehow while she raced through the streets, she had managed to tie a knot in her hair to hold it back—he had never seen anyone tie her hair up like that before, and his feeling of arousal over it took him by surprise. "Not many drivers can keep up with me," she said with a smile in her voice. "I like you, Northman."

"I should think so, Rio; you just had sex with me in a public parking lot." he observed. Her grin spread and she took his hand, guiding it between her legs, where he felt her heat and the wetness of his own emissions dampening her jeans. She leaned in to kiss him, her lips clinging to his, and she made a low hum into his mouth. He was ready to take her again, but she linked her arm through his and steered him up the few steps to her porch.

Rio did something at the door that did not seem to involve keys, and she stepped into the dark hall, turning to him immediately. "Please come into my home, Northman," she invited, knowing without him saying that he had to be invited in before he could cross her threshold; the knowledge of his kind she exhibited was just one of so many surprises he continued to experience in her presence. He went through the doorway, feeling cautious, but not able to tamp down his growing delight.

As Rio shut the door, Eric felt a calmness fill him, and the outside world was eerily hushed. He felt safe, just as she had promised. What sort of magic was she weaving? She didn't appear to be anything but a human girl, if a fabulously beautiful one.

She studied him in the darkness; he realized with a shock that she could see him as easily as he could see her. He reached out to gather her in his arms, and murmured against her hair, "Bed?" Still in his embrace, she walked backwards into the large room off the hall, walking him along with her. With his vampire vision, Eric took in an overstuffed chair and couch, before he almost stumbled over her—Rio had slithered out of his arms and was kneeling in front of him. Before he could react, she was biting him through his jeans, and he threw back his head, growling as his erection rose to her attack. She unzipped his jeans and freed him, and he knew without looking that she was assessing his… largess. She began to cover him with tiny, feathery kisses, those full lips clinging to his sensitive skin, nibbling a little. He sunk his fingers in her hair and rumbled low in his chest. He felt her lips around him draw up in a smile, then she sucked him in, pushing his foreskin back with her tightened lips, exposing his head to her pointed, probing tongue. He gasped and crooned her name _Loriola_ drawing out the "O" as she moved her lips over his hardness, She wriggled her fingers inside his jeans to cup his balls and softly, gently bobbled them in her palm. Then her fingers probed farther back, touching his opening, and he jerked. He grabbed her arms and raised her up, groaning as her mouth left him.

She pulled her shirt off over her head and stood back in her low-riding tight jeans and cowboy boots, so he could see her. He found himself asking, "Light?" and without her moving, the room took on a soft, moonlit glow—if moonlight had been golden.

Rio's breasts, like her bottom, were completely tanned. No tan lines. They were high and perfect, the upper halves sloping naturally and the undersides full and round. Her pointed nipples, erect for him, were the same color as her mouth, rosy pink. His eyes glowed with desire.

She backed up to the couch and sat, leaning back. She watched him watch her undo her jeans and grab the hems to pull them off, leaving on her boots. His eyes traveled the length of her coltish legs—they were so long it took a while. "Northman, look at me," she said. His eyes flew back to hers in surprised wonder; wasn't that what he'd always said when he fucked her mother? She held his eyes and slowly, lazily spread her legs. She twirled her golden pubic curls in her fingers, before dipping lower to stroke herself. Eric growled, stripping off his shirt and jeans, moving to position himself on his knees in front of her. But before he could enter her, she moved one knee to block his access, lifting the other leg up to the back of the couch, lying back along its length. She continued to finger herself and took his hand to have him join her. Amazement washed over him again as he felt her wetness and heat, his fingers entering her as she worked her nub, then their hands switched places, as her hips began twitching side to side with her building climax. She turned her head, parting her lips. "Fuck me," she sighed and he knew what she wanted. He moved toward her head and she grabbed his cock in her avid mouth, moving on him in earnest. He moved in and out of her as her tongue made circles around him. He was spellbound by the sight of their intertwined fingers bringing her off and her swollen lips sucking him in. The air between them seemed to sparkle and glitter, and he came in her mouth with such force that she choked a bit before swallowing.

She pulled his fingers free and spun on the cushions, flipping one leg up and over his head, grabbing his hips and guiding him inside her. Still pulsing with aftershocks, he plunged all the way in her, yowling with the ecstasy of her tightness holding him. She thudded her boots on the floor to either side of his knees, raising her hips to jam him into her again and again and again until she cried "Eric!" and came. Her rhythmic pulses brought him to a second climax in as many minutes, and he collapsed on her, panting.

After a moment, she wiggled a bit and Eric lifted his weight off her; she tugged on him to join her on the big couch, and flung one leg over him when he did just that. "You are panting," she observed. "Umhum," was all he could manage in reply. "But you don't breath," Rio said. "You make me want to," Eric said into the side of her neck where she held him. He smelled her heavenly skin, hearing the pulse run under it. "I so want to bite you," he sighed. "What's stopping you?" Rio asked, and to make her invitation clear, she lifted her chin to fully expose her long neck. "I am stopping me," Eric admitted. After a moment, he added, "I am afraid."

Rio shifted a bit, so she could look at his face. She stroked his brow and cheek. "You have nothing to fear from me, Northman." But Eric shook his head. "Fairy blood is intoxicating to vampires," he said flatly.

"You, intoxicated, is something I'd like to see," Rio responded, reinforcing her words by pressing her glorious skin the full length of him. He rumbled his appreciation. She lifted his hand to her mouth, sucking in his middle finger. He groaned. Holding his hand steady, she began sliding his finger over the cusps of her back teeth, scraping them against his flesh. She pushed his finger over with her clever tongue, tucking it into her cheek, and said, "How about if I taste _your_ blood?" It was a little garbled with his finger in her mouth, and it made him chuckle, before he fully realized what she'd said.

He was on his feet in a vampire second, staring at her. "_My_ blood?" he practically sputtered. "Oh no. Oh NO!" His hands made a dismissive wave.

"Been there, done that?" Rio teased. He nodded, and to cover his confusion—how did she know about _that?_—he said, " Dawn is coming. I have to go." She stood up, and moved into his arms. She nuzzled her nose into that sensitive place where neck met shoulder, and said into his skin, "No. You can stay here." He kissed the top of her head, then bent to kiss her shoulder—there was a sprinkling of freckles there, too. "I can't. The sun…"

"I told you," Rio interrupted him. "The sun cannot find you here." He looked at her skeptically, then looked around the room at the windows; was this some sort of trick? He felt uneasy, even as he wanted to trust her. As if he'd spoken his doubts aloud, she said, "You have no reason to trust me—other than that you've had your cock in my mouth—but you _are_ safe with me. Much safer than at Felipe De Castro's hotel."

That surprised him. He'd said nothing of why he was in Nevada. He hoped he didn't look as flustered as he felt, and chose to side-step that for now. "What safeguards could there possibly be in a house this falling down old?"

Rio handed him his jeans, telling him with a look to put them on. She took his shirt and pulled it over her head; because she was so tall, it barely made her decent. She looked luscious in just his shirt, her nipples poking at the fabric, and her cowboy boots, but before he could act on his rising desire, she took his hand and led him out on the porch. Puzzled, he followed along.

Rio closed the door and turned to him. "Go in," she said. Eric turned the knob, but the door did not open. He looked at her and shrugged, "Locked," he responded. "No," she replied. He looked at the door more closely. There was no locking mechanism evident in the wood or the knob. He tried the door again, but it would not budge. "C'mon, Northman," she chastised him, "aren't you a big, strong vampire?" And at her sneer, he reared back and kicked the door with his full force. His foot rebounded off the door and he fell to the porch. To her credit, Rio did not laugh, but he leapt up, truly angry now, and charged the door with a snarl. All that did was hurt his shoulder. He leapt to the street, grabbed a stone from the curb and hurled it with vampire force at the window. Nothing. No shattered glass, not even a crack. He was practically panting with effort.

Rio held out her hand to him and he joined her on the porch, taking it. She laid her hand on the door, and sunk into herself. Eric felt a tickling run up his arm to the hand she held. She stepped aside, and looked at him, then at the door. Was she kidding, he thought, rubbing his smarting shoulder. But he stepped to the door to give it another thump, and before he could touch it, it swung aside for him. Taking his hand again, Rio pulled him inside, saying, "The house is attuned to you now. Until I tell it otherwise, for as long as I live here, it will recognize you. It will let no one else in."

Eric felt completely out of his league. He had never been more flummoxed by anyone or anything in his long existence. But he was also captivated. And delighted. Rio led him up the stairs, the golden moonlight glow preceding them. Her bedroom was under the eaves of the roofline. There was nothing in the room but a huge bed with white linens. Spaced evenly around the walls were a few pegs, holding a dress or a sweater or a shirt. Her battered hat was on one. Her guitar was propped in a corner—Eric was past wondering how they had gotten here from her truck. From the stair landing, Eric saw through an open door into an old-fashioned bathroom with an immense claw-footed tub. There were no windows.

"I suppose I don't need to ask if the roof is light-tight?" Eric scowled up at the ceiling. Rio responded, "No. You don't need to ask." Eric stepped up to her then, running his hands up under his shirt to cup her magnificent rump, pulling her to him. He gazed down into her eyes, his electric blue on her sparkling green, before he was too close to see them. "How is it," he whispered into her mouth, "that you have a place for a vampire to sleep?" She whispered into his mouth, "I knew you were coming."

At that, he flipped her down on the bed, where she bounced once or twice, watching him shuck out of his jeans. He was about to jump her, when she put up a hand in a "stop" gesture, and holding his eyes, she rolled over and got up on her hands and knees, presenting herself to him. He groaned, fixed to the spot by her glistening opening peeking out from the tail of his shirt. She twitched her bottom, inciting him to get on with it, and he stepped up to her. He barely pressed himself in her opening, holding himself there, savoring her growing impatience. Just when he thought she might speak, or move, he walked forward into her with teeth-gritting slowness. She mewed and he felt her arms quiver with the effort to hold her up. He went up on his toes, actually lifting her on his hardness until her knees came off the bed. Then he slowly let her down and backed out of her. He repeated his motions, inching in and up, down and back until she was clenching her fists in the covers and hissing through her teeth.

"Say it," Eric commanded her, but all he got was another hiss. He angled to bump her sweet spot and she gasped. _"Say it!"_ he growled at her. And her elbows caved, dropping her face into the mattress as she cried, "Errrrrric!" and he thrust into her hard, harder, and they both came together.

Eric fell forward on top of her, and heard the air whoosh out of her lungs. "Damn you," Rio yelped into the bed before bucking him off her back. He rolled to the side and propped himself up on his elbow as she turned to face him. He swept her knot of hair back from her face, and said, "Did you know I was coming _that_ time?"

Rio made an exasperated noise, pulled the duvet up over both of them, and nestled into his chest. "Damn you," she murmured sleepily. As his own heaviness dragged at him, he put an arm over her and answered, "Probably."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading my fan fiction! I appreciate everyone's thoughts and comments.

I am seeing that some readers are confused and/or irritated that Eric is involved with Sookie's daughter. You are allowed to feel however you like about my writing; I have no expectations for my stories once I put them out there for you.

However, I thought it might help to review canon and how I rely on it as the jumping off point for my own writing.

We know from the CH book 8 that Sookie is Niall's great-granddaughter and is one-eighth fae; we know that Niall wants to be in her life, but he does not want her friends to know about him. We know that Niall is a Prince of the Fae and is very old and very powerful. We know that fairies and humans can inter-breed. We know Niall has known Eric for a long time, and we know Eric would kill him should the opportunity arise (i.e. a pitched battle). We know that fairies are intoxicating to vampires and that vampires are consumed by wanting them. And we have known through all the books that Sookie desires a child.

We know from "The Gift" (short story) that the fae man Preston was sent to Sookie by Niall as a Christmas present, and that Sookie had wonderful sex with Preston.

In my romance about Bill and Sookie, "Better Off Dead," I use that canon as a jumping off point. SPOILER IF YOU HAVE NOT READ MY OTHER BOOK, BUT WANT TO, DON'T KEEP READING! If you have read "BOD," you know that Sookie got pregnant by Preston and had a daughter, but that she did not raise her daughter or interact with her in any way. You also know that Eric knew about Sookie's daughter and that Sookie very much wanted to find her. And you know that, because of Bill, Eric and Sookie are not (likely EVER) going to be together.

So, while it may seem odd or perverse in human relationships that Sookie's former lover (and in "my" world, that is something like thirty years former!) would be Rio's lover as well, I would encourage you to expand your fantasy world vision to remember that vampires AND fairies are not operating under the morals that humans deem obligatory.

And on a strictly personal level, I wanted Bill and Sookie together forever, but I enjoy Eric tremendously and would like him to be happy (can Eric be happy?); I sense from the CH books---and all this can be exploded in book 9, of course---that he is quite miffed about not possessing Sookie, and I think he would be tickled to have her daughter. It is a way to throw in Sookie's face that he doesn't miss her, while of course demonstrating to all of us that he misses her terribly.

I hope those reminders help, and again, I appreciate your reading and reviewing my work. Missmelly

* * *

The first thing Eric knew when he came awake was that something very close by smelled delectable. The next thing he knew was that delectable smell was Rio, snuggled up to him fast asleep. Sleep turned her salty smell musky; it was pure sex. Even in the pitch black of her attic bedroom, he could see her hair glowing like embers in a dying fire. He wanted to stoke those embers to a blaze.

With great tenderness, he kissed her eyelids. Using the mere edges of his lips, he nibbled along her neck. He ever so gently sucked her earlobe into his mouth and exhaled quietly in her ear.

Rio shifted and murmured. Like the softest breeze, his hands drifted up under his shirt, in which she'd fallen asleep, and with the lightest possible touch, he caressed her breasts. He thrilled to feel her nipples beginning to crinkle up, and she rolled onto her back, taking a sleepy swallow. Eric moved just enough to kiss the golden brown skin of her flat, taut abdomen, letting his hair tickle her. She sighed and parted her legs.

Pleased with the course this was taking, Eric slowly hoisted himself up to position himself between her legs, taking care to not rock the bed—he didn't want her completely awake just yet. He reached down with one hand to stretch her open and then her entered her smoothly, making no noise. Her inside muscles were still relaxed in sleep and he let himself enjoy the different feeling of her, before slowly and sweetly beginning to stroke. Holding himself on his elbows so most of his weight was off her, he brushed back her hair and began covering her face with tiny butterfly kisses. Rio lifted her chin with a soft "mmmmmm" and he licked under her jaw with just the tip of his tongue. Her skin tasted like sleep and—could he detect it?—arousal.

With a jolt, her muscles tightened around him and her eyes flew open. "Wow," was all she said before responding fully to his movements. It was slow, sleepy sex and it was wonderful. When they came, it was calm, like ripples spreading out in a pond, and Eric let himself down on her with a sigh.

Rio shoved his shoulder hard—it was still tender from ramming the door—and bounded from the bed when he rolled off. In the same instant, he heard the door on the landing shut, then a pause, then the toilet flushed.

Rio returned, and stood by the bed, looking at him in the dark, "Whew," she breathed. "You make a swell alarm clock." She clicked on a floor lamp standing in one corner (she did use electricity, it seemed) and shrugged out of his shirt. "Sorry I wrinkled your shirt, Northman, " she smiled at him, tossing it on the bed. Eric smiled back, "Fresh ones in my car." Then he snuzzled into it, inhaling her sea breeze scent, and said, "I may never have it cleaned." He patted the bed so she'd join him, holding the covers up for her to slide under.

Eric was reluctant to break the spell cast by their tender lovemaking. He knew he had to tell her, and he knew there were things he wanted _her_ to tell _him_ as well. He gathered up a handful of her glorious hair, running it through his fingers. How could anything be so lovely? Her hair was like magic. Maybe it actually was.

"Rio," Eric spoke softly. She nodded her head, cradled on his shoulder, and replied, equally softly, "Northman."

"Why do you choose to call me that?" Eric asked, genuinely puzzled. "No one I know calls me that."

"That's why," Rio responded, as if that cleared up everything.

"I need to tell you something."

Rio stroked her warm hand down his chest and belly, to encircle his cock. It stirred at her touch. "I know your _needs_, Northman."

He tugged her hair at her teasing him. "Point taken; I _want_ to tell you something."

"Mmmm. Know even more about your wants," she said, kissing then biting his nipple. The sound he made was half desire, half exasperation.

"Okay," she said and sat up, crossing her long, lovely legs to sit Indian style, looking at him. Her back was straight, her hair flowing around her like a waterfall of sunlight down to the mattress. Eric reached up to sweep her hair behind her back; he enjoyed seeing her perfect breasts (they were not as large and heavy as her mother's, but they were still a bountiful handful, full and completely tanned, with rosy nipples). She sensed his enjoyment of them and arched her back a little to show them off. He rumbled his appreciation, then reached up to touch his fingertips to her face.

"I feel lucky to have found you," Eric mused. "And finding you brings me to what I want to say.

"About 25 years ago, quite by accident, I met a telepath." Eric could feel Rio's attention fully on him. "From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was enamoured." Rio snorted; like mother, like daughter, Eric could not help but think. "She was beautiful physically, yes. But I sensed from the beginning that she was different. She was bold and brave and irritatingly human, stubborn and proud. The way she grabbed life by the tail and swung it around… but first and foremost, she was lovely. She made me miss sunshine for the first time in my existence as a vampire."

Rio's eyebrows were up, and her look was skeptical. "I don't actually want to hear about your conquests, Northman."

Eric ignored her slur. "I was challenged by her, and I came to…" Eric hesitated, memories rising up in him unbidden. "…care for her a great deal." Now he really had Rio's attention—vampires had never been much known for their caring about humankind. "Through a series of complex events, she and I became blood bonded." Rio actually inhaled sharply at that; she understood the complexity and permanence of a blood bond, and instinctively knew Eric's story was more important than she'd thought.

"Where is she?" Rio asked. Eric had learned that Rio always cut right to the chase, not asking who the woman was, but understanding that if she was his bonded, she should be present in his life; the "where" was the more pertinent question.

"She did not understand our bond; I did not create the opportunity to explain it to her. The bond was not made at her choosing; I assumed she hated it and hated me. I believe she proved me right when she asked another vampire to bring her over.

"She no longer lives in this country."

"So…" Rio pondered, "She broke her bond with you by being turned?" She could still startle him with how much she knew about vampires. Not just the common knowledge—which wasn't all that common, in his experience—but the secrets and inner workings as well. He found himself wondering yet again if it could be true that magic recognized magic, in all its forms.

"So she was important to you, but you never got to fully explore what that meant?"

"Yes."

"I am sad for that. But why share your regrets with me?"

Eric looked at her. Her eyes were the deep green they turned when she was at her most serious and focused. Little flecks of gold glinted in them. Her lashes were impossibly long and thick, dark brown and looking like they were dusted with glitter. He had never seen anything so lovely, in a millennium of lovely things.

He took one of her hands in his. Never taking his eyes from hers, he spoke so quietly he could not hear his own voice in his ears, "That woman is your mother."

If he expected tears, denial, anger, denial, astonishment, denial, he should not have. Rio went very still, and Eric could feel her sinking down into herself. He waited for her—he was beginning to realize he would wait for her forever—when he felt her come back into herself and her eyes met his. They were hurricane green, almost gray, and dilated. He felt like he could disappear in them.

"I have never wondered about her," Rio said then. "My father… " and here she took a deep breath, " …never spoke of her. Sometimes I sensed he wanted to. But my great-grandfather kept him silent."

"You knew that?" Eric asked.

"I have always been able to tell what Niall is doing. I make him nervous."

The shock of her statement made Eric bark out a laugh. "Niall? Nervous? This could not possibly be the Prince of the Fae I know!"

Rio looked momentarily scornful, but her voice was even when she said, "Perhaps I have a different relationship with him than you do."

"No doubt," Eric said. "I am not entirely certain I would say we have any relationship. But he selected me to bring your mother to meet him for the first time. I believe he knew she would not refuse me, and he also knew that I would protect her with my life if hers was threatened."

"Yes," Rio mused, "He would know those sorts of things." Eric waited for a moment, rubbing his thumb against her palm as he held her hand. Then he asked, "Did you never wonder why no one spoke to you of her?"

"Did I?" Rio said, as if she'd never thought to question it. "I don't think I did.

"The place I grew up… well, it's like nothing you've ever seen. Time is different there. Thought processes are different there. I'm not sure it would have occurred to me to wonder; when I was there, I'm not even sure I knew I needed a mother in order to be produced."

Since Eric had been human once, he was certainly aware of being produced by two parents. As a vampire, he had learned creation was possible with a single maker. Why would Rio think differently, if no one chose to teach her otherwise? He remarked, "You certainly understand _sex_ very well."

Rio said, "These days, the fae don't especially associate sex with procreation," as if that was an explanation. So he asked, "Were there children around you who had mothers?"

"Not that I noticed. There were very few fae children. I was mostly an only child. Even my father wasn't around me much. When I was very young, I was with Niall. Or my teachers."

"Teachers?" Eric was surprised.

"I was with teachers from the time I could walk. Niall has always had very high expectations of me. There was much to learn," Rio said with a shrug.

"And yet here you are, naked in bed with me. I doubt his expectations included that."

"I haven't been too concerned about his expectations," Rio said with controlled calm. "He was careless enough to teach me to be his match in every way; I don't think he realized that once I knew the source of his powers, he could no longer keep me under his thumb."

"That explains much," Eric stated. He had sensed in her, along with a great power, an equally great anger. His initial surprise to find the granddaughter of a fae prince playing guitar in a Las Vegas bar gave way to understanding. Rio was not someone to take direction from _anyone_.

"Does it?" Rio asked, before she said, "Niall has great power. He is one of the rarest of the fae: one who can channel all of earth's elemental forces. He can move through them, flow with them, even direct them. My teachers were each master of one force or two; by the time they were done with me, I was master over all." Rio shrugged like this was only normal and to be expected.

Eric stroked her knee where it pressed against his side. "May I ask you a personal question?" Rio likely had no clue what a concession this was for Eric, who never considered whether or not any question was appropriate to ask, but she nodded. "The fae are intoxicating to vampires; we are dangerous to your kind. Yet here am I, and here you are. While I crave you and cannot seem to get my fill of you, I do not feel that I am out of control of myself or under your thrall. Why is that?"

"You've been in Niall's presence. Had he shown you his true self, you would have done anything to consume him. And that would have likely resulted in your death. He can mask what he is. I can too."

"His true self, your true self; what is that, exactly?"

Eric had barely asked his question when the place where Rio sat burst into dazzling light that made his skin sizzle and crawl. Eric was bowled over with lust as insatiable as he'd ever felt. He was drunk and foolish and blind and consumed by a thirst that was unquenchable. And justlikethat, Rio was on the bed and he was reeling, standing crouched on the floor beside the bed, his hands claws in front of him, his eyes starting from his head.

"WHAT?!" Eric could barely get out the word before he started to cry. Rio held out her arms to him and he crawled into them, filled with an alien emotion: he was frightened. Rio stroked his hair. "That was me," she said simply. "You are not in my thrall because I don't want you in my thrall."

Eric held onto her. He didn't trust himself to speak. He had an erection so hard it was throbbing, but he couldn't imagine doing anything with it. He slowly became aware of her scent: along with her normal ocean smell, there was something new… citrus? Lime? And nutmeg? Ginger? Pine? Copper? The earth before a rain? He raised his eyes to her face, begging her with them to explain.

Rio placed her mouth on his. Her lips were so warm, they clung to his. He hadn't thought about food for centuries, but he was flooded with the memory of fruit. His fangs were still out from the violence and lust of her revelation, and she forced her bottom lip against them, piercing it. A droplet of her blood ran into his mouth and he groaned in ecstasy. She was sweet, salty, metallic, smoky, like wine, like meat, like oxygen, like pepper—he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, drawing her blood from the puncture and swallowing.

Eric's arms went around her, tight, tighter. He sank onto the bed, rolling her on top of him, clasping her hips and positioning her over him. She reached down between them to grasp his fullness, rubbing him over her warm, wet opening and swollen nub. He moaned into her mouth, his hips twitching with the need to push up and enter her. She sank down on him, taking him completely and he gasped at her heat. She leaned over him, her hair forming a tent of gold around them and said, "Northman. Look at me."

Eric's eyes opened. She locked eyes with him, and while he watched, she tucked her bottom lip in her mouth—when she released it, she has sucked out more blood. It was scarlet and sparkling. With vampire agility, he lunged up to lick her mouth, capturing her bloody lip in between his. Stars burst and fizzed on his tongue at the taste of her.

Her taste was orgasmic and without moving inside her, he came. He flipped her over, diving between her legs, licking her clean and in doing so, brought her to climax as well. He climbed up to kiss her mouth, careful of her wounded lip. He kissed her over and over, softly, wonderingly, until she lifted her arms out for a stretch. Her movement against him was glorious and muscular, like a snake or a cat.

With a start, Eric realized he could love this girl.

Rio must have seen the look on his face—or felt it—because she asked, "What's up?"

To cover his bewilderment, Eric asked, "What time is it?"

Rio went into that stillness that he was learning was her summoning of her power, and sighed. "About 8, I think."

Before he could even ask how she did that, she bounded out of bed, saying, "I have to go. I play at Diablo's in an hour." He watched her enticing nakedness disappear into the bathroom, then he stretched back on her bed, smiling at the ceiling.


	5. Chapter 5

"Northman?" Rio called from behind her bathroom door.

Eric shook off his reverie, deciding to try something. In a conversational tone, not loud at all, he responded, "Yes?"

She heard him perfectly. He had not known the fae had heightened hearing, but he should have.

"Scrub my back?" Rio invited, and he bounded from bed. He was beginning to get over his surprise at how like her mother she was. After all, didn't it make sense that they might… enjoy the same things? He recalled how Sookie had been very aroused by sex in the shower, and that had turned into sex in the bed, on the kitchen table, in front of the fire. He shook his head, his long blond hair fanning out around his head. It did him no good to think about Sookie and anyway—a wicked grin spread over his face—her _daughter_ was waiting for him to scrub her back.

He hastened through the door and stopped dead, arrested by the sight before him. Rio was standing in the claw-footed tub in the middle of the room. From a large showerhead in the ceiling, what appeared to be steaming rain poured down around her. It sluiced down the entire length of her radiant hair, darkening it to burnished bronze. It streamed over her delicious rump and dripped off her lovely nose. But it did not spatter the floor, which was dry as a bone.

Eric stepped over the side of the tub and Rio took him in her arms, pulling him under the hot water. He murmured his delight in both her and the shower, and with water dripping from his eyelashes, he looked at her and asked, "How do you do that?"

She never seemed to need clarification, so instead of asking him "Do what?" as he had expected her to do, she shrugged and said, "The water loves me, so it stays as close as it can." As he marveled over that idea, she handed him the soap and turned her back to him.

If Eric had expected his shower with Rio to in any way resemble that most memorable one with her mother—and he did—he should not have. It started out similarly enough, with lots of soap, lather, rubbing, kissing, and gasps.

But when Rio turned off the water, and Eric thought they'd move to her bed, she had a different idea. She passed him a towel and he began drying her; she grabbed another and was rubbing him down. Then she motioned him to sit on the broad edge of the tub. He complied, the glint in his eyes matching hers. She stepped over him, straddling his knees, and lowered herself slowly down on his erection. Even though he knew what to expect, a gasp still escaped him as her heat enveloped him completely. Her sitting on his lap put her extraordinary breasts almost at mouth height, and Eric had the distinct pleasure of suckling Rio's crinkled nipples while she rolled her hips on him, clockwise then counter-clockwise. She was as lithe as a belly dancer, and as he began to rumble in his throat, she started raising up a bit, still rolling her lovely hips in circles. Up, down, around and around, Rio was quite literally screwing him. She linked her fingers behind his neck, leaned back at arms length, and threw back her head, exposing her panting throat to his voracious gaze. He watched her passion flush her smooth skin, watched her glorious abdomen shiver and bunch as she rolled and tilted on him, and watched her sliding on and off him, her wetness making his cock glisten in the golden moonlight glow she produced. Rio's singing his name had begun, and she rode him, moaning "Northman, Northman," then "Eric!" like the cry of a seagull, until their climax crashed over them like waves on a wind drenched beach.

Rio's hair tendriled over his knees like seaweed tossed in the storm of their coming. She lowered her head to capture his eyes with hers—they were sea glass green, clear and sparkling.

Eric cocked an eyebrow at her and said, "I think you might need another shower." Rio burst out laughing and pushed up and off him, bounding from the room like a gazelle. He sat for a moment, recovering and toweling dry his hair, when Rio appeared in the doorway in a dress the color of a glacier, covered in delicate embroidery, holding her hair over her shoulder as she braided it. He was hypnotized by the rhythmic flying of her fingers, when she snapped them under his nose and said, "See you at the bar." He blinked and she was gone, her boots clattering on the stairs. He could swear he saw the colors of the rainbow swirling in her wake.

When Eric got to Diablo's, Rio was nowhere in sight, but taped to the office door was a folded sheet of paper. On it, in a fluid hand, was one word: Northman. He smiled and took it down. He entered the office, which was empty, and sat in the chair behind the desk. He held the paper under his nose and inhaled; it smelled faintly of the ocean.

Eric unfolded the paper, and in more of Rio's liquid script he read: Sit with me while I eat—10:30

He refolded the paper and added a few extra folds so it would fit in the pocket of his blue and white striped shirt. Then he scanned the desk for the thumb drive Sandy had left. Once found and inserted into the computer port, Eric leaned back and started reviewing the bar's accounts.

Sandy had mentioned paying particular attention to those nights when the bar was doing well, to see if there was a pattern to why some nights were more than successful, and others were losing money. Eric used one long finger to scroll the screen, flipping from page to page, occasionally spreading his index finger and thumb on the screen to expand certain columns. He opened up a side window to start tracking the dates with high revenue, looking up when the door opened and Ailling entered.

"Evening, Mr. Northman," Ailling said. Eric responded with a nod, and Ailling continued, "I'm helping out tonight at the bar, but if you need anything, just holler."

"Actually," Eric's voice stopped Ailling as he was turning back to the door, "I have listed all the dates when the bar is turning reasonable profits. Could you look at them and tell me what is exceptional about these nights?"

Ailling moved to stand over Eric's shoulder, looking at the screen. He muttered a little to himself, before asking, "Might I get there?" and motioning toward the chair. Eric moved from the chair and Ailling flopped into it like his feet hurt. He leaned toward the screen, scrolling through the dates Eric had listed. Ailling muttered some more, then pulled up a calendar widget. Eric heard him saying, "Week o' the 14th, uh huh, and the 21st… the 25th was a, um, Thursday…" Then Ailling turned to look up at Eric. He said, "Yup," and heaved himself out of the chair. He waved Eric to take it back, and said, looking not at all surprised, "Those are the nights that our house performer plays."

Eric raised an eyebrow in question, and Ailling filled in, "She's a local gal, right popular with the regulars. Name's Rio Brigant."

Eric's eyebrows lifted even higher, but he said to Ailling, "Thank you, Al; don't let me keep you, if your services are needed elsewhere." At that obvious dismissal, Ailling left, looking a bit disgruntled, but he shut the door quietly behind him.

For a long moment, Eric was lost in thought. Then he heard Rio's voice, singing from the stage. He was drawn to the sound like sailors drawn by the siren to crash on rocky shores. Apparently, so was the whole town, because when he opened the door to watch her sing, the bar was packed.

As before, Rio sat on a tall stool. Her braid hung down her back, as thick as his wrist. Her long tan legs emerged from the hem of her dress, ending in her cowboy boots with their scuffed toes; one heel was hooked over a rung, and her bent knee gleamed golden in the stage lights. Her face was cast in shadow by her hat brim as she bent over her guitar. She sang: "God but you're beautiful aren't you? Feel your warm hand walking around, I won't pull away, my passion always wins…" and just as she had done the first night he'd seen her, she lifted her face and sang directly to him, where he stood silhouetted in the light from the office. He was riveted by her beauty and her smoky voice.

Eric looked at the patrons, sitting at tables or leaning along the bar; no one was drinking or even talking. Every eye was on her. Every man in the place wanted her and every woman wanted to be her. His eyes narrowed in thought and he backed into the office and slowly shut the door.

Returning to the computer, Eric pulled up a calculator widget and began running figures, his fingers flying with vampire speed. He compared totals. Then he leaned back in the chair, staring at the screen. The nights Rio performed, Diablo's take was more than three times what it was on a standard evening. While overall the bar was operating in the red, the profit margin on Rio's nights almost evened things up. Rio was single-handedly supporting the bar.

Eric tidied up his figures and clicked on fax, entering the number for Sandy Seacrest. Then he took out his cell and called the King's headquarters; he was surprised to hear Lander's voice pick up.

"Lander, you're answering phones for the King now?"

"Eric, you hardass! Working tonight, are you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I expected you to be here, working tonight _with_ me."

"Yeah, well, like I said, the King has me doing important stuff," Lander related breezily (like answering phones, Eric thought). "I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Well, since you are so busy answering important calls _like this one_, tell Sandy I just faxed something to her that she needs to look at right away."

"Yeah, yeah, she ain't around right now. What's so important?"

Eric gritted his teeth. "Just tell Sandy to look at the revenue numbers I've sent. She's going to get a surprise." He clicked off and pocketed his phone. There was applause out in the bar, and he looked at the clock: 10:30.

Eric left the office, looking over the crowd. He saw Rio talking to Ailling, her hand on his arm. She leaned over to kiss his cheek, then turned to some women waiting to speak to her. He saw their broad, admiring smiles, saw Rio nod, smiling back, and moved toward her.

She always seemed to sense him and now was no different—she looked in his direction, said something to the women, then turned and motioned toward two empty bar stools. Eric joined her, and as he sat down, he noticed that the audience, who had been watching her, all looked away and went back to their drinks and conversations. He knew Niall could cloak himself, not to be invisible exactly, but to just go… unnoticed.

Eric leaned to Rio's ear and spoke softly, "Are you _hiding?_" She smiled and said, "Yes. I'd like to eat in peace." Eric tucked away this new piece of knowledge about her. The bartender approached with a bowl of fruit drizzled with honey, setting it down along with utensils in front of Rio—Eric asked him for a blood.

Ignoring the fork, Rio plucked up a gooey strawberry and wrapped her luscious lips around it. She sucked off the honey, making yummy-yummy noises, then bit the berry. A little bright red juice leaked down her chin and Eric groaned. Rio looked at him then and raised one blond eyebrow. Holding his eyes, she deliberately swiped her tongue below her lip to catch the juice, then slowly licked and sucked her fingers clean.

Eric felt a stirring in his pants, and wondered briefly how he was going to make it through that entire bowl of fruit, when Rio said, "I've seen Sandy in here a few times recently; now you're here from Louisiana to meet with her, and Al is all upset. What's up, Northman?"


	6. Chapter 6

Eric struggled briefly to make the switch from flat out lust to brisk business talk, hiding his astonishment at her observations. Feeling a bit defensive, Eric asked, "What's it to you, Rio?"

Rather than answer, Rio tipped back her head and held a chunk of melon over her open mouth, letting the honey drip off it onto her extended tongue. Then she dropped in the melon, and Eric could not tear his eyes from the movement of her jaw and throat as she chewed and swallowed. He could smell their recent sex on her, and his train of thought was derailing from wanting her.

His voice was ragged when he spoke, "If you are going to keep eating like that, I will take you right here on the bar."

Rio's eyes shimmered, her pupils dilating. She reached for a grape and held it delicately between her teeth, her lips parted so he could watch her slowly bite down, slicing it in half, slurping at the oozing pulp and juice. Eric stood up, looming, and Rio burst into giggles, holding her hand over her mouth to keep from spraying him with grape juice.

She made a sit down motion with her other hand, and gulping in a big breath, she quelled her laughter and said, "Just testing. I'll behave."

Eric made a pouty mouth at her to show his disappointment, knowing he would be rewarded with her smile, then he began to explain:

"My King…" he gave Rio a look to see how much he needed to tell her. She waved her hand and said, "Filipe De Castro, the King of Nevada and Louisiana."

"And Arkansas, yes," Eric confirmed. "He has been King for quite some time, and is looking to expand beyond his publishing and entertainment empires. He is acquiring restaurants, hotels, and… bars." He looked at her again.

"Al told me," she said.

"Did he also tell you Diablo's is not doing very well?"

"Yes. That's why I'm helping him out."

Eric made a connection between her statement and the affection he had seen her demonstrate with Ailling. "You care for him?"

Rio stared in front of her. "After I left Niall, I had nowhere to go. He took me in. He let me live in his house for a while. He gave me this job," and here she swept her arm to take in the room, "and he feeds me." She popped another grape in her mouth, this time without all the show.

"Rio," Eric said carefully, "I don't think the King intends keeping Al on here."

"I've suspected," she mumbled, ducking her chin into her chest. Then she looked at him, her eyes supernaturally bright. "Northman, where will he go? This place is all he knows. He'll be destitute. I don't want to see that happen."

"Yes," Eric acknowledged. "And I will be the instrument of his destitution, it seems."

She shrugged. "Not you in particular. Things are changing. For my whole life, vampires have been out in the open. Now there are weres everywhere. So many of the ways humans have operated—for decades—are all but gone." She took a deep breath and finished, "I just hate to see it happen to Al."

Eric laid his cool hand on her arm. "It might not have to."

She looked puzzled, and he had a momentary thrill that she had not anticipated something he'd said. He continued, "On the nights you play, the bar does very well. Once the King knows this, he will want to keep you on in some capacity—if not here, then somewhere else in his empire. He will pay you handsomely and you will be able to provide for Al."

Eric was aware as he spoke that Rio was looking at him incredulously.

"Northman, I did not escape from a prince to work for a king!"

Eric felt a flash of anger, then instantly an overwhelming memory from decades ago: he'd found Rio's mother struggling with the Queen of Louisiana's second, Andre, in the hotel in Rhodes. Andre intended to force his blood on Sookie, to bind her to him and insure her loyalty to the Queen. Sookie was revolted by the idea, and Eric knew it would be huge problem if Sookie became bound to Andre, who would use her cruelly. He felt he had no choice but to offer to his own blood instead, and Sookie accepted. She instinctively understood it was better to be bonded with Eric than with the Queen, through Andre.

Rio was waiting for him to speak—she was so perceptive that she saw myriad emotions flying across his face. Eric summoned his voice from deep within himself, "I went through a similar… issue with your mother. It was how she became my blood-bonded."

Rio pressed her hand over his. "I'm so sorry, Northman."

He shook his head. "It's in the past. She decided on a different path, one that took her far from me."

"Tell me about her."

Eric's eyes glowed as if he was looking at some far away, lovely memory. "Her name is Sookie—it is, I think, a name handed down from her human family.

"She was less than 30 human years when she was turned.

"She is as beautiful as you are, but in quite a different way. She is not as tall as you, and is much more curvaceous…"

Rio smiled and said, "I get it, you lusted after her. Tell me why _I'd_ like her."

Eric's forehead creased in thought. "She is spontaneous. Very brave. Smart. Funny. I liked teasing her—she was adorable when she was irritated…"

"Gah," Rio made an exasperated sound. "Stop with the lust, Northman, you're talking about my mother!"

Eric tried to look chagrined, but failed miserably. "Did I tell you she is a telepath?"

"Yes, you did, but tell me more about that."

"She is very good. She used to help me read recalcitrant humans when they were causing me business woes. When the Queen—who Filipe had killed in order to take over Louisiana—learned of your mother's talents, she hired Sookie to assist her at political meetings and summits."

"She kept her telepathy when she was turned?"

"Yes. I had always suspected that her telepathy was somehow linked to her fairy blood, but she was only one-eighth fae, and told me that telepathy was not intrinsically part of the fae."

"No, not that I know of," Rio said, but she sounded uncertain. She played with a piece of fruit. "You said she lives in another country?"

"In England. She has a psychology practice there, helping vampires adjust to… ah, whatever it is vampires need to adjust to." Now it was Eric's turn to sound uncertain.

"Are you in touch with her?"

"Less than I would like. Her maker was an investigator in my area; I was his boss. When she was human, Sookie loved him more than she should have."

"Excuse me?" Rio's eyebrows went up. "That was your business _how,_ exactly?"

Eric chuckled at that: "Sometimes you are _so_ like her.

"He did some bad things to her—he had no choice in doing them, but he also chose not to inform her of his unfortunate behaviors. Yet, when she found out, they continued to be… friends"—Eric sounded like this was too alien a concept to even be speaking of—"… and when Sookie lost… went through some difficult experiences, she turned to him to bring her over. Not too long after that, they left Louisiana for England. She got her psychology degrees there.

"I have heard she is very happy.

"I have not seen her in a long while."

His voice had trailed off to nothing and he stopped.

Eric looked at Rio, his face like marble. "The King must not know about you. He will want you for himself and he will not treat you as you deserve. It would have been a terrible mistake if I had told him about you."

"It's okay, Northman, I'm a big girl," Rio tried to lighten his darkening mood.

"No," Eric spoke with force. "I could be leading him to you right now. I have been staying at your house."

"I want you to," Rio insisted. "I… like it ."

Eric brushed his fingers along her cheek in a gesture of reassurance. "I like it too, but I have been thinking about this all wrong. I…" Eric's jaw clenched and his face twisted with unhappiness. "I faxed Sandy about Diablo's. She wasn't there… Rio, I cannot stay at your house anymore."

"Northman, I told you, you are safe there. No one can get in."

Eric practically hissed, "It's not me I'm worried about! If I'm not at his hotel, Filipe will be wondering where I am staying. He'll have me followed to you. Once Sandy gives him my report, he will know how valuable you are, and he will know I value you, too. He will want you for himself."

"You're being silly, Northman," Rio started, but the look on Eric's face silenced her.

"Silly is one thing I _never_ am."

Rio looked around the bar, indicating the total lack of interest in her. "As you've noticed, I'm not easy to find if I choose not to be seen."

Eric set his jaw in a way Rio had never seen (her mother would have instantly recognized that set and held her tongue; there was no arguing with the vampire when he had that expression). When he spoke, his voice was hard, "The King is ruthless. He will stop at nothing to obtain what he wants. He is not above using others…" and here, Eric nodded his head down the bar toward Ailling, "…as a means of persuasion."

Rio drew in a shocked breath.

Eric ignored her surprise and plowed ahead—he intended to make his point no matter what (while this should have been a yellow flag that he was letting his feelings for Rio get the better of him, he batted it away). "The King might even torture me to find out about you."

If Eric thought he was playing for her sympathy, he was wrong. Rio's eyes flashed the illuminated green of a traffic light. "I thought it wasn't _you_ you were worried about! Here I thought the powerful vampire could take care of himself."

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he growled, "I not only can, I will: I will not endanger _either of us_ by staying at your house."

"Northman…" Rio reached for him, but he stood up so fast she couldn't see it.

As far as Eric was concerned, the matter was closed. But his confusion over how he felt about Rio and how to protect her from the King's notice had him flustered in a way totally alien to him; that, however, did not excuse his rudeness when he stepped away from her and vanished into the office, slamming the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

The next night just after sunset, as he was unlocking Diablo's back door to start opening for business, Al Ailling saw a strange car pulling up next to him. He peered in to see the big sloppy vampire Lander at the wheel.

Lander put down the window. "Get in, Al," he said in a grumpy tone.

"I'm opening up, Mr. Lander," Ailling replied.

"Sandy Seacrest asked me to fetch you. This won't take a minute."

Ailling looked around, hesitating. "Mz. Seacrest?" he asked, like he was looking for the small, stern vampire.

"She's up the road at the King's new hotel," Lander explained, then added with impatience, "C'mon."

Ailling didn't trust vampires as far as he could throw them—and at his age, that wasn't far at all. He glanced around hastily; no one in sight. He stepped slowly around the car and got in. As Lander pulled away fast, Ailling hoped he didn't notice the keys he'd left in the door of the bar.

Ailling said, "Mz. Seacrest has never met me anywhere but at Diablo's…"

Lander laughed gruffly and slapped Ailling on the shoulder. "Well, now, you might just be meeting the King of Nevada."

Ailling knew immediately that something was wrong; Sandy had never indicated that the vamp King met with humans—Ailling had asked her about it, wanting to broker the deal on his bar himself. He saw that Lander was driving fast—in the wrong direction.

Keeping his voice even, Ailling said, "You've made a wrong turn, Mr. Lander; this isn't the way to that hotel."

Lander cursed and spun the car off the road, into the driveway of a trailer park. He ground the car to a stop behind a small stand of scrub. Before the car had even settled, Ailling threw open the door. He was too old to move quickly and the vampire grabbed his arm—Ailling tried to slip out of his jacket, but Lander's grip was like a hungry grizzly's on a salmon.

"Whoa, now!" Lander blustered.

"We're not going to see the King! Let me go!" Ailling opened his mouth wide to yell, but Lander whomped him in the neck and he fell from the car door, gagging.

With head-spinning speed, Lander was beside him, grabbing Ailling around the neck and dragging him into the scrub. Ailling struggled to shed Lander's hands, but he had no breath.

Lander dropped him to the ground like a bag of garbage. Ailling struggled to sit. "What do you want?" he croaked through his damaged throat.

Lander laughed; Ailling cut his eyes around to see if there was anyone who might hear. Lander was on his knee, thrusting his big face in Ailling's. "I want that thumb drive." He wiggled his hand in one of Ailling's pockets, and Ailling grabbed his wrist, wrenching with all his strength. His efforts just made Lander laugh again. Ailling silently prayed someone would hear the raucous sound.

"What do you need it for?" Ailling tried to buy some time; someone would see them there—the scrub afforded little cover.

Enjoying his moment of power, Lander puffed up, just as Ailling thought he might—he glanced around, gathering his breath to holler at the first sign of anyone. Lander was strutting now, "That pompous ass Eric Northman sent that frigid bitch a fax, but I intercepted it. The bar is doing better than the King thought, but if he finds that out, he won't give it to me." Lander hauled Ailling to his feet, yelling in his face, "I NEED THAT THUMB DRIVE! NOW!"

"I don't have it. It's…" Ailling tried to think. "It's in my office." If he could get Lander to take him back to the bar, someone else would be there, someone would have seen his keys in the lock—Rio! No, he couldn't endanger the girl! He amended, "Or in my car, yes! Parked at Diablo's."

"Okay," Lander said, shoving Ailling toward the car. "Let's go."

Ailling stumbled and then righted himself. He could see some lights down the road where he thought the trailers might be. He took off at a lumber, making it a few steps before Lander hit him.

The force of Lander's swing knocked Ailling to the ground. Before he could roll over to face his attacker, Lander was on his back. Ailling felt his jacket and shirt tear across his shoulders at the same time that Lander's fangs drove into his neck. Ailling howled his pain and fear. He struggled with all his might, but Lander's grip was like a polar bear. Ailling felt the suction on his neck like the world's largest shop vac, and was vaguely aware that Lander was humping against him as he drank.

As Ailling's vision dimmed, he thought he saw a coyote in the distance watching the proceedings with interest.

888888

Rio got to Diablo's early. She wanted the chance to speak to Al alone. Eric's spurning her had saddened her. And his revelation about the bar's business had frustrated her; she knew from the moment she laid eyes on Eric Northman that time would compress to nothing, and she was angry at herself for trying to grab what little joy she could, now, before…

Rio's thoughts were abruptly interrupted at the sight of a bunch of keys in the lock of the back door. In the shadow cast by the door's recess, she couldn't see whose they were until she took them out. She had seen that worn red karabiner latched on Al's belt loop every night.

Rio looked around. Al's car sat off to the side, as usual. She listened; no human sounds in or around the bar. She reinserted the key and went in. The bar was dark, but she could see no one was there. She stood in the darkness, breathing slowly and fingering Al's keys. Then she stepped swiftly into the office.

Rio sat in Al's chair, waking up his computer. It didn't take long for her to find what she needed. She punched the numbers into the phone.

"Yes, Al?" said Eric's voice when he picked up. Of course he would recognize the bar's number.

"I wish it _was_ Al," Rio said. "He's missing."

There was a second of silence, then Eric said, "What does that mean, exactly?"

Rio knew there would be no sentiment, no "why are you calling me?" from Mr. Eric Northman. But at the moment, she was glad for his briskness.

"I was supposed to meet him before the bar opened to talk about… you, actually." She paused, but Eric did not speak, so she pushed on, "His car is here and his keys were in the back door. The bar is dark."

"How did you get my number?"

"I found it on Al's computer."

If she expected him to say she was clever, she was disappointed. She could hear his aloofness: "I will come as soon as I am able. Call me if Al shows up." He clicked off.

Rio stared at the phone like it was Eric. She was irritated. He was pretending he did not ache for her as she did for him, and she intended to fuck his reticence right off his face. She got up when she heard staff come in through the back, to see if she could help get the bar ready for the night.

8888888

When he walked in Diablo's right after midnight, Eric found Rio sitting up on the bar. Her braid reminded him of bell pulls in Victorian houses, sleek and shining where it hung down her back, almost brushing the bar top. Her long legs dangled from under a skirt made of clingy, silky material, and the heels of her cowboy boots drummed on the bar front. Her eyes instantly connected with his, glowing like a feral animal's in the bar's half light. He contemplated walking straight into the office without acknowledging her—just so he could compose himself—but that proved impossible as soon as she lassoed him with her look.

As he approached her, she moved her knees apart and, Hlin help him, he walked right up to the bar and stood between her legs. Her face was just above him, and she bent down to capture his mouth in hers. She probed with her tongue to see if his fangs had run out for her, and smiled against his lips when she found they had. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "Hey Northman," she said.

Eric found his hands on her long, smooth calves, naked and warm above the tattered tops of her boots. A small part of his mind wondered if he was tied with strings to an unknown puppet master as his hands moved unbidden to grab her behind her knees, and her legs lifted to wrap around his butt, hooking her ankles together to draw him tight against the bar. His erection pressed hard against the wood, and he contemplated Sandy's reaction to his taking Rio right in the middle of the populated room. He suspected she would frown on it.

"Rio, we have to ta… " Eric was interrupted by her luscious mouth grabbing his again, and she murmured against his lips, "Take me outside."

Something in her tone meant there was no arguing with her. He grasped her waist in his large hands, almost encircling her slenderness, and lifted her off the bar. All eyes were on them as they walked out the front door to the parking lot. Once there, he looked at her quizzically, and she nodded in the direction of the dark far end of the pavement. Eric followed her gesture to see her big old truck parked in the darkness.

As they walked to the truck, arms around each other, Rio began exploring his ear, her breath tickling, her tongue probing. A gasp escaped Eric's lips despite himself, and he reached around her to open the truck's door. She perched her fabulous rump on the edge of the bench seat, and rolled away from him, laying back. She linked her legs around his hips, and grabbed the seat release and lifted it; the seat slid all the way to the back of the cab. As his exploring fingers moved under her skirt, Eric couldn't believe she was already wet for him. He unzipped his jeans, setting himself free. He lifted her legs up to rest on his chest, one boot on either side of his face. Placing his hands around her hips, he lifted her up and onto his hardness, pushing in as far as he could go. Her heat and her tightness always astonished him—his urgency belied how very much he had missed her. As he began to move, Rio arched her hips against the seat to take him as deep as possible on every inward stroke. Her head thrashed from side to side, her mouth open and sighing, "Northman, Oh. Northnorthnorthman. Fuck me, Errrrrric!" If he'd had the ability to think at that moment, he might have wondered why she only called him by his first name when she was coming, but he was too engaged in honoring her request to think. He ground into her and her feet linked behind his head and pulled him forward onto her, using the momentum of his inward slam to slide them across the seat.

Rio hit the passenger side door lever, popping the door open so Eric's head wasn't banging against it, as his strokes took over any sense either of them had. Her boots were drumming against the roof of the truck, his feet were dangling out the door on one side, his head out the door on the other, and the noises they were making were like two caterwauling beasts. The sounds of their climaxing could have awakened the dead, but no one approached or even seemed to notice.

Shaking with the speed of his release. Eric righted himself, studying Rio's face hungrily as he zipped up his jeans. He'd been stupid to think he could shake her, and he could see she knew that; she had a slight, knowing smile on her gorgeous lips. He bent to kiss that smile right off, murmuring into her mouth, "Why were we fucking?"

Rio pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. She raised her eyebrows, grabbing his shoulders to pull him back, but he resisted. "You didn't like it," she pouted.

"Oh yes," Eric rumbled a bit, his eyes filling with passion. "I enjoyed it immensely. But I thought you called me because you were concerned about Al."

She cocked her head and said, "You caught me: I'm so worried, I'm just using you for sex to feel better. Can't you tell?"

"It could not have been because you… _missed_ me," Eric said with annoying confidence. "However, if it makes you feel better"—he caressed her leg above her cowboy boot, tickling behind her knee—"perhaps I should take you home and make you feel even…"

Rio touched her fingers to his lips. "I _am_ worried," she said. "He hasn't shown up and I've called him—no answer. Could he be with Sandy?"

"No. I was with her before coming here; she needed to know Al is missing. And I was also concerned—concerned that she might have shown my report to the King—but she had never seen it."

Rio looked puzzled, not following him. Eric explained, "When I faxed her the figures about Diablo's profits on the nights you play, I thought it was important enough to call Sandy and tell her to review it right away. Lander answered the phone and said he would give her my message."

Rio's brow creased and she frowned. "And where is _he_?"

Eric could not escape the accusation in her eyes. "I don't know. I have been looking for him."

Rio put her hand on his chest. "Maybe we need to fuck so _you'll_ feel better," she tried to tease. Then she asked in a more serious tone, "You said the King might… try to hurt Al?"

"He still needs Al to sign all the paperwork on the bar; and I don't think Lander would have bypassed Sandy and given my report straight to Filipe."

Rio felt more uneasy than she let on, but Eric seemed to be picking up her emotions. "I will take you home," he motioned her to scoot over. "I need to know you are safe while I look for Lander."

Even as she handed him her keys, Rio said, "How will you get back to your car?"

"I'll fly," Eric said with a shrug. Rio sputtered and Eric grinned; he allowed himself a brief moment of gloating at paying her back for all the times she'd shocked the hell out of him.

"You can do that?"

He shrugged again.

With a shyness he never would have associated with her, Rio said, "Show me sometime?" He smiled at her, and drove her truck out of the parking lot toward her house.


	8. Chapter 8

At Rio's house, Eric opened the truck door for her and held out his hand to shepherd her out. She made a little hop to the curb, lifting her head to inhale the night. He saw the moonlight on her skin, turning her to silver. He shivered at that—was it some sort of omen? Vampires could be badly hurt by silver—and held onto her warm hand to reassure himself; to banish the thought entirely, he pulled her into his arms, locking his mouth to hers. She kissed him back with fervor, and his hands started urging her toward the porch.

Rio was looking at him, her sensual smile anticipating what was to come, when she gasped, stumbling. Eric caught her before she could fall, looking at her with alarm. Her eyes were flat solid black, her face stark white, almost blue in the light from the moon. As he watched, amazed, her lips curled back from her teeth and she began snarling; she snapped at him viciously, and he almost dropped her. Not knowing what was happening, he swept her up in his arms, charging to the porch—the door swung open for him and he raced in the house. He laid her on the big chair inside the living room and stepped back, not knowing what to do.

Rio was making a deep gurgling in her throat; saliva bubbled on her lips, and her body jerked in the chair—could fairies have epilepsy?

As fast as it had started, she grunted and opened her eyes to him—they were the electric green of a jaguar's and filled with wildness. As quickly as that powerful cat leaping to prey, she jumped from the chair, throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, almost tumbling him over.

Her mouth was on his, biting. Her fingers clawed the back of his neck and yanked his hair. She was pressed tightly to him, rubbing herself up and down his chest on the strength of her arms. As her tongue assaulted his mouth, she growled like a cat fighting another for food. Her scrabbling hands tore at his shirt; when it did not immediately yield, she swung her head, lashing him in the face with her hair with such force it stung. He growled his own response, tossing her down in the chair and ripping open his jeans.

With the muscular speed of the jaguar she embodied, Rio was on her feet in the chair, bending over the back. Eric pounced on the cushion on his knees, flipping up her skirt and pulling her down on him with force. She roared when he impaled her, whipping him again with her hair. He thought he felt her draw blood, and he rose up on his knees, bending her over the back of the chair and pounding into her. She slammed back with force to meet his strokes and they flew from the chair, crashing to the floor. Now Rio was sitting astride him, pumping up and down as he grasped her hips. He felt her hand wrestle inside his jeans where they still bound his thighs, pushing aggressively past his balls, making him jerk, and wiggling at his opening.

Before he could form a thought, her fingers pushed inside him and he groaned. Her fingers curled with certainty to rub his singular spot, and he shouted her name. She slammed her hips down on him, grinding her nub on his pubic bone, and hitting his spot again; she screamed her climax as he shot into her.

For a long moment, they were frozen, locked together. Then Rio collapsed over and off, slumping to the floor. Eric scrambled from under her, spinning around to push her hair from her face. As he stared at her with concern, she opened her eyes to his. They were teal green, almost turquoise, and iridescent like a peacock feather. She smiled, then winced. She looked around the room, and he could see the moment she came back into herself. Then her eyes dilated in fear and she grasped his arms.

"What is it, Rio," Eric pulled her to him. She buried her face in his chest and whispered, "It's Al."

With a heave and a shove, Eric raised her into the couch, then pulled his jeans up his hips so he could maneuver up next to her. He took her in his arms and she burrowed into him. Once he had her tightly in his embrace, he said, "Al?"

She nodded against him, speaking into his chest. "I… saw him… through my eyes… like I was…" her voice sobbed, brokenly. "…like I was… eating him."

Eric felt more intrigued than revolted, but sensed now was not the time to express that. He waited in silence.

Rio lifted her face, her eyes swimming in tears. "I was a big… a coyote, maybe. I was tearing off his skin…" she retched at that.

"Was it real?"

Even in her misery, Rio gave him an "are you kidding me?" look. "I _am_ a fairy, Northman," she snapped.

"Part fairy, Rio," he retorted.

Rio's anger took over her distress, and she said, "I am _mostly_ fairy. And I am powerful, part fairy or not."

Eric made a contrite face, saying, "So I have seen," and her misery swept back to overwhelm her. "I must have been reading him; he must have still been alive."

Then he asked, "Should we search for him? Could you see where he is?"

"No. The 'signal' was very weak."

"Are you sure it was him, not the coyote?"

Rio shook her head against him. "It could have been. I suppose. I felt… completely wild… I wasn't myself."

Eric smiled and raised her hand to the lash marks left by her hair. "I noticed."

"Oh Northman," she said, kissing his welts. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I, um… enjoyed every second."

Rio tried to smile. Then she asked, "You said you had to tell Sandy Al was missing—what did she say?"

"She was not concerned"—Rio snorted at that—" nor should she be. Sandy doesn't care for humans, except for how they can help her reach her goals in service to the King. She is a zealous worker." Rio let that one slide. Returning to the subject at hand, Eric said, "Did you get a sense of what you saw being in real time? Or was it a premonition of some kind?"

Rio frowned at that. "It felt very real. But…" She sighed heavily. "I just don't know. Why do you ask?"

Eric pondered for a moment. "It doesn't make sense to me that Al would be in any danger. I know he hasn't shown up like you expected, but I am more worried about you. In my enthusiasm to do a good job, I have put you in danger. Could your… vision have been about something attacking _you?_"

"I don't think…" Rio started, then she stopped, her brow contracting. A dawning thought moved her eyebrows up in surprise. "It could be… maybe it's Niall…"

Eric's own brows shot up. "Niall?"

"Mm," Rio said almost to herself. "He hasn't been able to find me, because I haven't been having sex." And here she smiled slyly: "I guess you changed all that, Northman."

"He is searching for you," Eric mused. Then he looked at Rio, hard. "I take this to mean he was not completely in accord with your leaving?"

Rio hedged. "Not entirely, no."

"He can track you through your lovemaking?"

"Well… yes. In a way."

"So by my making love to you, he will be able to find you." Eric was not asking her; he wasn't even looking at her. Something that had been in the back of his mind since the first time he saw her burst forward. "You chose me. Even though you didn't want to be found—yet you knew he could find you—you chose _me_. Why?"

"I recognized you," Rio said in that maddeningly elliptical way of hers. Eric made a scoffing sound, and she held up a hand for his patience. "I told you I knew you were coming. I'm not sure how else to explain it; part of me was known to part of you."

"And he wants you back why?"

Rio dissembled, "It's complicated, Northman."

"Rio," Eric said emphatically, "I think it is time to tell me about you."


	9. Chapter 9

Rio shrugged. "There is too much to tell."

"I have time."

"How much will you give me?"

"As much as I have."

Rio sensed his hesitation and asked, "But…?"

"But… I should return to Sandy in an hour or so."

"Ah," Rio said then. "I guess that will have to do."

At that, Eric nipped her gently on the breast and Rio smacked his head. They both laughed, and he snuggled down next to her like he was waiting for a bedtime story. "Once upon a time," Rio began, with a smile, "there was a fairy princess…

"She ran away from home so she could play guitar for boozed-up patrons in a bar in Nevada." Eric flashed her an evil grin, before slipping his hand up her skirt. "What else did she do?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She grinned back and responded, "Nevada was a rough and tumble kind of place, so she found herself a big, bad vampire—who also happened to look like a god—to protect her and make mad, passionate love with her." She waggled her eyebrows back at him.

Eric looked at her in disbelief, "Surely not! You are making this up!" to which Rio placed her hand over her heart and said, "I swear on my mother's grave, I tell the truth!"

"Your mother has no grave," Eric huffed.

"Mmm," Rio responded, aware that his playful mood had shifted. Her own face grew serious.

He said, "I am sorry I interrupted you. I do want to learn more about your upbringing."

"Northman, I know vampires are not necessarily up on fairy politics and survival issues"—Eric had spoken almost those exact words to her mother on the night he took her to meet Niall, and he told Rio so. She sighed uncertainly and continued, "So excuse me if I repeat things you already know." Eric assured her with a touch that he would not mind.

He sensed Rio gathering herself, and when she spoke, it was from deep inside herself. "The power of the fae is stored in elemental forces of the earth; earth is in fact one of those forces—mountains, metals, desert, rock are all connected to earth's force. Water is another—oceans, rivers, rain, tears are all part of the water element. Air is a third—wind, storms, breath are a part of this element. Fire is the final element—heat, flame, volcanic eruptions all fall to this force."

Eric nodded his understanding, not wanting to interrupt her to tell her that much of his Viking heritage and belief system followed the presence of the same forces. He had seen a millennium of those forces at work and knew their power.

"For the fae," Rio continued, "there is a more elemental force than all of these—one which all rely on for being: love and sex." Eric felt his eyes widen. Rio was entering territory he had often wandered himself, during those rare times he had experienced love. "Sex for the fae is the ultimate act of creation. From sex comes all things. There would be no stars, planets, trees, fish, fairies, vampires"—and here she paused to smile at him, recognizing how very much vampires love sex—"nothing in the universe would be created if not for sex.

"For the fae, there is no sex without love, no love without sex; these two experiences are inextricably linked. The idea that these two activities could be separate, as humans think they are, would not 'be on the radar,' as the old expression goes. Sex for the fae is both very simple and pure, and very complex and revered. For the sake of brevity, let's just say that sexuality is the core of all fae.

"As the world has changed, the very heart of creation—the sex and the love of it—has weakened and faded, taking the fae with it. The ways of the world, and in particular humankind's impact on it, has made it all but impossible for the fae to reproduce."

Rio stopped. She looked at Eric, but he could feel her mind was far away. He wanted so much to touch her, but he did not want her to stop talking; he could listen to her low, melodic voice forever. She sighed and spoke, "Niall has known of this danger to the fae for a long time. For more years than there are minutes in a day, he has sought a queen who could reverse the damages done to the forces of the world by its careless residents." She stopped again, and Eric could not help but ask, "A queen? I have read of fairy queens."

Rio nodded. "The fae call her the Fairest. She is healer, procreator, teacher, leader. In many ways, she holds all the power there is, and in others, she… well, she is powerless." She looked at Eric, her eyes asking something of him. He shook his head, saying, "I don't understand."

"The Fairest connects all the elemental forces inside her, bringing all of them to join with her in the creation of the fae. All fae in essence would be her children. And she would have many, many children. She would be the ruler and the mother of a new kingdom of fairy people.

"But the making of so many children would keep her bound to her nest. Her body would be worn out and eventually destroyed by the giving of life to others. Once she was used up, the forces of creation would be set free, for fae men and women to have children—families of their own—for the first time in centuries.

"So the Fairest is everything, and ultimately nothing."

Eric mused, "Like in a bee hive." Rio nodded. "Did Niall succeed in finding his Fairest?" Eric asked.

Rio's eyes clouded over and darkened to the green of the sea bottom. "There is no 'finding' her. She must be made."

Here Rio looked at Eric, as if she was flowing into him through the connection of that shared look. He watched the world turn from night to day in her eyes, saw the sun rise, saw the moon move through its cycles of waxing and waning—he had no idea how much time passed, minutes or years of being lost in her eyes, before he truly heard what she had said.

"The Fairest… must be… _made?_" Her eyes dilated until they were completely black, and Eric knew then. And the knowledge was like a thousand mirrors shattering, waves pounding rocks to sand, mountains uprooting trees, and rivers carving stone to nothingness.

"You?" he barely spoke. "_You_ are the Fairest?"


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note: If you found the idea of Eric loving Sookie's daughter yucky, you will not be happy about this chapter either. However, I hope I have made my own position clear: when adults consent to participate in whatever, it's none of my business; when an adult uses power over another adult—or anyone—to do whatever (even if it _is_ considered "custom"), I'm not down with that. Neither is Eric.

* * *

Rio sat up and studied Eric's face. "Yes," she whispered. "My grandfather ordered me made, to become queen to the fairies."

Eric could almost not believe what he was hearing; a mystery that had puzzled him for decades was resolving right in front of him. He spoke as if talking to himself, "Your mother suspected it. She thought the fae man who was your father must have magicked her into having sex—she told me she didn't want to have sex with him, but she did anyway. I was very sad and angry to hear that."

Rio said bluntly, "When a fairy wants sex, there is no stopping him. Or her."

Eric looked at her appraisingly, "I have noticed that," and he smiled at her.

Then he mused, "Niall knew your mother was his granddaughter, possessing some of his own power, even if she never developed it. So he had your father—a full fairy—impregnate your mother, so he could steal you and make you Fairest?"

"Yes, his plan was… " Rio said, then blurted, "_What_ did you say?"

"Niall commanded your father… " Eric started, but Rio waved an impatient hand. "Did you say he stole me? From my mother?"

"Well, yes… "Eric hesitated, sensing anger brewing just under her surface. It was frightening and exhilarating, like seeing a tornado spinning in the distance.

"So she did not give me up?"

"No!" Eric spat at the very idea. "I think your mother wanted you very much. She was devastated at losing you. I believe her sadness over you formed a large part of her decision to become vampire."

Rio was quiet for a long moment. Then she asked, "How old was I?"

Eric silently cursed Niall—_I will find him and I will kill him_—before saying, "You had not yet been born."

Rio's blinding light leaked out from around her eyes, which glowed like molten copper. The light bulb in the corner lamp popped and shattered, and the room was plunged in darkness. Eric could still see the strangled expression on her face and when she spoke, her words sounded choked, "He took me from my mother before I was born." She repeated the words, sounding stunned and amazed, and not in a good way.

"I HATE HIM!" Rio shrieked, and Eric clapped his hands to his ears in alarm. He had heard of banshees, but had never thought they existed until he heard her scream. "I… WANT… HIM… DEAD!" The house itself groaned at the sound.

It was all Eric could do to bring himself to take her in his arms; he was not at all sure it was safe. But as soon as he touched her, she relaxed. He held her and crooned to her, low in his chest. He had no sense of time passing, but she finally lifted her face to him. He gently took her bottom lip between his, released it, then her top lip the same. Her head fell back into his hands as if she had no strength to hold it up any longer. He brushed his lips softly across her freckles, silently counting each one. He nipped the end of her nose, and she almost smiled at that.

Eric let her head loll to one side, cradling it in his large hands, and kissed her jawline up to her ear and down, then tipped her head to repeat his kissing on her other side, trailing his lips down her neck to her collarbone, licking the hollow at the base of her throat, feeling a little pulse ticking there. Rio inhaled despite herself. She pressed her hand against his chest. "Northman… I can't… right now I don't…" then he shushed her: "Fairest, you don't need to move. Let me take care of you." She made a tiny nod against him.

He lifted up her hand to his mouth and kissed each fingertip, then repeated that with her other hand. He eased her back on the couch and kneeled beside it to ever so carefully remove her boots. He lifted up each foot in turn to kiss every toe tip and the soles of both feet. Then as softly as a moth lighting on a night-blooming cerious, he kissed up each leg to her skirt, covering each thigh with kisses just below her hem. By the time he had lavished kisses on her knees and their light spatter of freckles, her breath was catching in her throat.

Eric moved back to her hands, taking one in his own and turning it palm up. He covered it with kisses and tiny licks, and her fingers curled to touch his face. He kissed the inside of her wrist, and when she gave a tiny gasp, he sucked the tender skin into his mouth a bit, not breaking the skin. Rio mmmmm'd very quietly, and he kissed up her arm to the baby-bird softness of the inside of her elbow. He opened his lips against her warmth, sucking gently, and she jerked.

Eric leaned over her, and kissed her in the open neck of her shirt, picking up her many gold chains with his lips and moving them so he could get to her golden skin. He flicked his tongue along the fabric neckline, and slightly under. Rio moaned, lifting her chin up. He kissed and sucked her throat where it sloped up to her chin and she swallowed against his mouth.

Rio's hands lifted slowly to his head, pushing it down to her breast; he bit her nipple through the fabric, and she sighed. He nuzzled the underside of her breast, and her hands left his head to raise the hem of her skirt up to her waist.

Eric sealed his mouth on her flat belly, walking his lips around her navel, then dipping his tongue inside; Rio shivered, her exquisite skin goose-bumping, With dreamy slowness, she raised the leg closest to him and hooked it over his back, opening herself to him. He inhaled her hot sea smell and pursing his lips, puffed air over her wetness. She shivered again and moaned. He dipped between her legs, using his tongue with broad, relaxed licks to open her, before taking her nub between his lips. He tightened them around her, stroking her captured nub with his tongue. When it swelled in his mouth, he rumbled in his throat.

Rio opened her eyes to his sound and saw that somehow, while she'd been following the path of his mouth, he'd slipped out of his jeans. She reached for his hardness, encircling him, gripping him tightly and he rumbled again. "I want you inside of me," she whispered, and Eric lifted his head. He kissed her mouth softly, barely making contact and eased his tongue between her lips; she parted them and equally softly sucked his tongue in. He returned the favor and her tongue explored inside his upper lip, licking his fangs, which were fully out for her.

"Please," Rio whispered against his lips. Eric lifted up slowly and with great care, like she was fragile and would break if he went too fast, moved between her legs, holding himself up off her on extended arms. She tipped her hips, sliding her opening along the length of him before tilting just enough to start him in. With carefully controlled slowness, he eased into her until he filled her up, then stopped and lowered his body on hers.

Rio sighed her happiness and without moving anywhere else, began rocking her hips just a bit; Eric matched her rhythm, barely moving with her. For long minutes, they were lost in each other's lulling, when Rio began a low keening in her throat. Her muscles inside her tightened and tightened until Eric wasn't sure he could move, but she suddenly dug her fingers hard in his rump, bucking under him with a strength that startled him. He shoved his hand under her ass, lifting her onto him with force.

Rio cried, "Northman!" and he could feel her pulses beginning, but he wasn't quite there with her and he ground his pelvic bone into her nub over and over, prolonging her climax until she was sobbing and gulping and shuddering. Her noises took him over the edge and he shot into her, collapsing.

Instantly, Eric lifted up on his elbows, covering her face and ears and neck with hard, insistent kisses, and Rio cried out, "Do it! I want you to!"

Without stopping to think, Eric opened his mouth on the top of her shoulder and bit. Her blood leapt into his mouth like it wanted to be in him—it was not a flow, but a spout—nor did he have to draw on the wound, only swallow. Her blood was liquid fire, white hot, ice red, pure undiluted love. He felt it rushing through him, heating his skin until he thought he might vaporize. There were birds flying in his veins, spiders spinning their silk around his heart, and the roots of strange plants spreading under his skin. He could see through his closed eyelids into the depths of her body, where waves of her blood broke and shattered on her blinding white bones. She was clouds scudding across the ocean, fog shrouding a mountain top, leaves bursting from twigs in spring, a mother deer dropping her wet newborn on meadow grass, a snake walking its jaws over a mouse. He felt light as a snowflake, heavy as metal, warm and chilled, as large as the universe and as tiny as insignificance. He lifted his mouth from her and laughter gushed out in an unstoppable flood. He laughed until he was drained and then ever so quietly, he began to cry.

Eric cried for his father who had taught him and his mother who had loved him, for his maker who had turned him, and his bonded who rebuffed him—he cried as though he'd never stop, and Rio held him to her, rocking him in her arms and crooning a tuneless song.

Eric had no idea how long he laid there—time had lost all meaning—but he slowly returned to himself, beside her on the big couch, his head on her shoulder, their legs entwined, her hand stroking his hair.

Without moving, Eric said softly, "Stay with me, Fairest. I will protect you. No harm can ever come to you if you are with me."

"Northman," Rio sighed, "I wish so much that were true. I want nothing more than to be with you. You complete me."

"Then you will be with me." It was a statement. How like Eric.

"I can't, Northman. We have been through all this. You have, quite literally, turned me on. Our pleasure in each other is like a beacon; Niall will follow it to me. This is as certain as the tides."

Eric clutched her to him, burying his head in her. "No," he mumbled his desperation against her skin, "let him make himself another queen."

"He can't. His life is drawing to a close. He doesn't have time. Only I will do for the Prince of the Fae."

"I'll talk to him. I am a great negotiator. I am the best. I will convince him…" Rio shushed him with her fingertips; they were so warm against his cool mouth.

"There is no convincing Niall, Northman," she said, with sadness. "There is more to tell.

"Niall wishes the new kingdom of fae to be his."

"His? He wants to rule?" Eric was troubled; something didn't quite jibe.

"He wants more power than even that," Rio said. "He wants to be father."

Eric mouthed her words. This made no sense. What was he missing?

"Father?" He said aloud. Then it made perfect sense.

Eric sprang to his feet. He was shaking with rage. His voice quaked out of him in anger and disbelief. "He wants to _fuck_ you?"

"No!" Rio shouted, then amended more quietly, "Yes. But he would not see it as fucking. Nor would the fae see it that way. It would be more like his, oh… his job."

Eric sputtered, "His _job?_ To impregnate his granddaughter? Over and over until he used you up?!"

"Yes," Rio answered him, "although he wouldn't quite put it that way."

"There is no other way to put it," Eric hissed.

Rio stood up. She wandered around the room. "I must not be explaining very well; I know it's hard for you to understand. It is his destiny. And it is mine." She hesitated. "I don't want it. But it _is_ mine."

Eric deflated like a pricked party balloon, and he sank onto the arm of the chair. "You are right, Rio, I don't understand. I don't agree. I don't accept. And I won't allow it."

For once, Rio did not try to argue. But her face was infinitely sad. "Find Al for me, Northman," she said as she opened the door, "don't fail me." Then she motioned with her head that he should go.


	11. Chapter 11

As Eric drove toward the King's hotel, he took out his phone and clicked on Sandy's number, putting the phone on speaker.

"Eric," Sandy said on the first ring. "Any word from Ailling?"

"No," Eric responded. "Lander?"

"No," Sandy said, actually sounding exasperated. "Ailing hasn't signed the paperwork on Diablo's. This is _most_ inconvenient."

If Eric hadn't been so worried himself, he would have laughed. Worry did not sit well with him (he could not believe this job, which had seemed so inconsequential, had gotten away from him like this), but Sandy's discomfiture was a pleasant distraction.

"If we find Lander, we'll find Ailling."

Sandy almost sounded interested, "How do you know that?"

"Did you see the report about the bar's revenues that I faxed?"

"No."

"Lander told me he would be sure you got it. I think he read it and has gone to talk with Ailling."

"And why would he do _that_?"

"I'm not entirely certain…"

"This petty little business deal will be the death of me," Sandy exclaimed, not realizing the bad pun she'd made; "Youngster," Eric thought about her sarcastically, before saying, "…but I will find out."

"You do that, Eric," Sandy stated flatly. He started to click off, but she said, "And Eric?"

Yes?"

"Fax me another copy of your report. I'd like to see what has Lander so interested that he would leave here without delivering it to me."

"Well, you said yourself he was trouble."

"Just send me another copy."

"Sandy, I'm driving to the hotel. The information is on the bar's computer. I'll send it tomorrow."

Eric heard Sandy inhale to object—he could sense her curiosity actually getting the better of her, and he knew he had to cut her off before she got any more concerned—and he said, "Tomorrow, Sandy," and clicked off.

Eric knew she suspected something: a missing bar owner, a missing report, a missing vampire, and Eric, trying to shrug it all off. She knew he was too consummate a businessman himself to be taking this unexpected turn in their dealings so lightly. He hoped she was thinking he wanted a chance to prove to the King that he could bring everything together as he had promised.

Eric went to his rest knowing that Niall was more than likely coming for Rio, that Filipe De Castro was going to want her for himself, and that he himself would do anything to protect her. As the sun rose and sleep took him, he wondered if there was a way to have the King and the Prince battle it out, while he and Rio slipped quietly away.

_888888888_

The moon was full.

He was flying with her in his arms. Her own arms were warm around his neck, even though it was cold so far off the ground. The swamps glittered below them, fireflies blinking their yellow mating lights: "I'm here! Where are you?" Spanish moss festooned the trees like sage green fog. The deep blue velvet sky was spattered with stars; he could have reached out and plucked them to make a necklace for the superb woman in his embrace. Her beauty put the stars to shame.

Her hair spun out behind them, tangling with his own, red gold and white gold twining together. Her rose-pink lips rested against the skin of his neck and he could feel her breath there, too.

"Look! A shooting star!" he shook her gently. She lifted her head, and with eyes the green of the deepest sea, watched the ribbon of silver dive through the silken parachute of the heavens, its shimmer reflected in her liquid orbs. "Make a wish," he urged.

She turned her head and brushed her lips against his: "I wish we could fuck up here amongst the stars."

Having never tried that before, he nevertheless sought to grant her every desire. He was certain their passion made anything possible.

"Hold on tight," he said with a soft smile, and she replied, "I'll never let you go." He tightened his hold on her slender waist, freeing one hand to remove his pants. They watched the blue denim spin away beneath them, legs twirling like a helicopter, until a faint splash came from below.

She moved her long, graceful legs to wrap around his waist, freeing her hands to pull off his shirt; it too spun away like an unraveling swan. "Now you," he said huskily, feeling the heat of her legs and what was between them pressing against him. She hitched up the hem of her leaf-patterned dress, lifting it off over her head, flinging it above them. They laughed as it fluttered away—a pale butterfly flown too high, returning slowly to earth. She turned her smiling eyes to him, asking, "Aren't you cold?" He kissed her and the heat at the core of the planets was in that kiss. "Never when I'm with you," he murmured into her mouth. "Are you?"

"A little," she admitted. He slowly spun them around, so that his body shielded hers from the wind of their passage through the moist summer night. His hair flowed like melted gold around his face. She reached up, gathering it like stalks of wheat to harvest, then gathered hers the same. Holding his eyes with hers, her fingers moved between them, plaiting their hair together in one long braid. He laughed at the ingenuity of it. Her eyes filled with happiness and love and need, and she reached down between them to guide him into her.

He held her hips and she laced her fingers behind his neck. He moved her on him with slow concentration, loving the new sensation of the blowing air cooling him as he left her heat; the breeze dried her juices, increasing the friction, making them both moan. With their hair braided into a rope, they could not but look in each other's eyes, seeing each other reflected back to infinity, seeing stars swirling, seeing faraway flashes of lightning, seeing the moon climb the bowl of night to spotlight them and their love. They kissed, braiding their tongues. They came, braiding their hearts. Locked together, a part of him made to fit and fill a part of her, they spun gently, slowly at first, then faster and faster until they were a blur that blended into one consummate being. They were question and answer, yin and yang, life and death, blood on blood on blood on blood. They soared and laughed, giddy with the night and each other.

With a bang the entire world exploded in fearful light. It swallowed the night, extinguishing the moon and the stars. They cried out, dazzled, blinded.

The light was solid anger. It scorched them. It burned like sun, like ice, like silver. They wept from the brilliance, the beauty and horror of it. There was no color, no sound. The light was hungry, sucking at them, tearing them apart.

She dug her fingers in his shoulders, hanging on. The braid that had made him laugh was their lifeline: through it, her magic flowed. The light pounded them, buffeting them like a raft in a squall. He reached to grab it, to strangle and crush it, but it could not be touched, it could not be contained.

The light was the sun in solid form; it raked him with dagger claws, tearing his skin, his arms, his legs. His blood poured out, black against the blinding white. "No!" he yelled, "she is mine!"

Tossed and pummeled, her grasp slipping, he clawed his hold and kissed her, desperate she know his love. She forced her tongue between his lips and his eyes flew open in surprise. Raising his hand to his mouth, he plucked out a piece of metal: a tiny sword.

He stared in amazement, buffeted by the howling hurricane of the light. He felt her in him, her blood burning through his veins, feeding the weapon, which grew and grew until it filled his hand, his vision. A thousand years of knowledge poured through him into the sword. He twirled it in a blur above his head and lunged.

The light danced away, mocking his skill. A beam smote him and he reeled.

He felt a jerk pull back his head as the blinding light yanked her hard; the braid held. She clung to him like a champion bull rider, her magical fierceness flowing around him like a garment of leather and chain. He roared a warrior cry and raising his sword, he flew at the light.

He thrust with all his might, but the sword rebounded off the wall of light, impenetrable. The rebounding blade snicked past his ear, tugging his hair. _Too close. Need space. Stay away! DIE!_

He swung the sword in a circle round his head, at the height releasing it to spin with thunderous force; as it spun, the iron edge of his blade sliced the light in half.

The rending light poured out blackness and the shriek of its dying filled the universe with terror.

The terror and the blackness ebbed and slowly the moonlight returned to fill the sky and light his way. He looked up, behind, and around. Nothing. He grabbed his plaited hair and pulled it in front of his face—it was severed clean and blunt, unraveling a little in the pre-dawn air. He blanked. He froze. He panicked.

He bellowed, "I'm here! Where are you?" His cry echoed and bounced and returned no sound.

_88888888_

Eric did not want to awaken, but he got up and dressed in a hurry. He made a quick stop at a shop in the hotel's lobby, before driving straight to Rio's house.

The door recognized Eric and swung open for him—would she have revoked this privilege if she were angry with him? He stepped inside, and stopped. Very quietly, in case Rio was asleep, he said her name. "I'm up," she said back to him, from the bedroom above. He took the steps three at a time.

Rio was lying back on the bed, wearing a dress of a floaty material, patterned with forest plants and birds. He felt he'd seen it before. She held her guitar across her stomach, slowly strumming. Eric stopped at the sight of her. Her toes were bare and pointed at the ceiling, her feet perfect and brown. He wanted to cover them in kisses.

When she turned her face to him, he held out the flowers. "Fairest! You _are_ here!" Eric said in a worried tone, then: "I am sorry." He was contrite and he packed sincerity in his words. Rio sat up and laid her guitar aside. She reached out with the grace of a bird in flight and took the bouquet.

Studying the flowers, she said, "You call me Fairest now?"

Eric rejoined, "You call me Northman."

"But Fairest is my title…"

"It is also what you are… to me. My Fairest.

"And Northman is _my_ title."

Rio's smooth forehead creased. Eric explained, "When I was human, I had no surname as such. Being from Scandinavia, I adapted Eric the Man from the North to become my modern name."

Eric could almost see the light bulb go off over her head. Rio's eyes widened and she smiled broadly, showing her perfect teeth, "I _knew_ you were old." Then she pondered, "Eric. Scandinavia… you're the Viking?!"

"Not _the_ Viking, no. But a warrior and a sailor, yes."

Rio nodded emphatically. "I sensed those things in you: the sea, the battle. The first time I saw you, you looked like a sword."

"A sword?" Eric's eyebrows shot up in surprise; had she actually been there?

"Mm," Rio nodded again. "It represents the element of fire. You are _very_ fiery. Warm, but… fierce."

He grinned at her assessment, pleased. Then he looked pointedly at the flowers he'd brought her.

She buried her face in the blooms, inhaling. Her eyes lifted to his, their color spring leaf green. As she held his gaze, her mobile upper lip plucked off a rose petal and she munched it into her avid mouth, chewing and tipping up her chin to swallow. She lowered her eyes back to meet his, and a sensual smile spread from the corners of her lips to her eyes. She raised a hand to fondle the flowers, plucked another petal and popped it in her mouth. He watched her mouth and jaw and felt her motions like she was eating him alive. He began to laugh, softly, then more boisterously as she completely consumed the rose. By the time she'd started on her second bloom, she was giggling. He bent to sweep her up in his arms, and chuckling still, he covered her upturned face with kisses. She was as soft as rose petals.

Her eyes dancing, Rio lifted her wrist to him and said, "Taste." He raised his eyebrows—did she forgive him so easily?—then bent to touch his mouth to her wrist. His fangs ran out against her skin, piercing it. He sucked, drawing in a little of her blood, then lifted his head up, rolling the taste on his tongue. The scent of the flowers was in her blood and it was like an endless greenhouse of roses that blanketed his senses. Yet it was subtle at the same time, barely there amongst the salt and tang. He marveled at how her blood could be different every time he tasted her. It humbled him to know she did this just for him, as a gift to him.

He licked her wrist to heal the wound, making yummy-yummy noises against her skin. She shivered. Eric raised his eyes to look into hers, sending his appreciation and desire through them. He watched her eyes darken from pale tourmaline to a deep, almost cloudy emerald, then watched the feral light fill them up. He bent to pick her up, and kissed her eyes closed as her lay her on the bed.

Rio drew in her breath and Eric felt the magic swirling; the hem of her dress floated up, revealing her smooth brown legs and her downy fluff of gold between them. He knelt down beside her and whispered, "Open for me, Fairest," and rumbled in his throat when she did.

He dipped his mouth to her, nibbling with his lips, careful not to snag her with his fangs. She pressed up to him and he moved his hands to spread her entrance open with his thumbs, his fingers burrowing under her extraordinary ass. He attempted to fill her with his tongue and she made a small bird call in her throat, tightening her inside muscles to capture him there. He pushed his nose into her swelling nub while he moved his tongue in and out of her; she dug her heels in the mattress, trying to force him in deeper. He wanted to crawl right up inside her. He was trying to.

So softly, he could barely hear her, Rio was sing-songing his name as she always did: _North-man, north-man-north-man-north-man. _He timed his tongue strokes to match her song, speeding up as her pace quickened, before sucking her nub in his mouth, rolling it carefully between his lips.

"Bite," Rio offered. Eric actually raised his head at that; could he have heard her correctly? He moved around her dress, still floating in Rio's magic breeze to look at her. She opened her eyes, so green with arousal they were almost black. She made an "mmmmm" noise in her throat, both a plea and a confirmation. He dipped his head under her dress, placed his lips around her nub and with exquisite control, pressed his fangs into her hot, moist flesh. She cried out her orgasm as blood trickled on his tongue. He swallowed and was instantly high as a kite. He came in his jeans.

She wrapped her thighs around his ears, not releasing him and he drew on her and swallowed again. He felt he was hanging above the bed, watching himself literally eating her, and he was so aroused that he thought his head would explode off his shoulders. Desperate to meld with her, he wormed free of her grasp, and was out of his pants and on top of her. He plunged in up to his pelvic bone and she yelled, "_Eric!_" even as she lifted her hips to meet him.

Rio threw her legs around his hips, digging her heels hard in his butt, kicking him into her with so much force he grunted. She grasped him in her arms so tightly he was glad he had no need to breathe, and she rolled them over and over and over until she was on top of him, impaled on his aching hardness.

"Please," Eric looked up at her, drowning in her eyes, "Please, Fairest. Fairest, please," he was begging this ethereally lovely creature for release, for surcease, for completion. And without moving her body, she began clenching and unclenching her inner muscles until his mouth fell open in a surprised "O" and he came with what felt like tsunami force.

Eric returned to consciousness—had he fainted? He truly would not be surprised— to feel her fragrant hair blanketing him, her weight relaxed on him, still inside her. A realization intruded into his utter peace: Eric had always prided himself on his ability to please his partner, and he never wanted to leave one so perfect as this unsatisfied. "Fairest?" he moved her hair from her face and stroked her cheek with his fingers; his arm barely worked. "Hmmm?" she vibrated back to him through her chest pressed to his. "Did you…? I don't want you to be left unsatisf…" and she kissed him quiet. She looked down into his eyes, deep, deeper, until her gaze was inside him. His anxiety at not satisfying her creased his forehead.

Rio shook her head, "No, Northman, you didn't fail me. As a matter of fact, I, um… I exploded the bed."

"But I've failed you in other… " Eric said, remembering, then heard her words. "You… _what?_!"

She nodded her head toward the floor and he turned his own head. He started upright at what he saw, and Rio exploded with laughter, which made her muscles ripple around him still inside her. She and Eric were lying on… nothing. There was three feet of air under them, and on the wooden floor, a thick layer of bed-shaped fine powder. Eric dropped a hand down and pinched some up in his fingers. He sniffed the powder—it smelled like Rio, sleep, and sex. Rio was still chuckling over the astonishment on his face.

"I get a real kick out of shocking you, Northman," she said.

He smacked her bottom, and she pouted, simply so he would take her bottom lip between his and scrape it with his fangs. He felt her lip pull into a smile between his teeth. Then she lifted off him and stood up, her feet puffing the bed residue on the floor. She held out her hand to him to help him up, and he stood up exactly like he was leaving the bed. He shook his head at the strangeness of it. "You _do_ shock me. All the time."

"Shower," she said. Eric felt a stirring low down at the very thought. She noticed. As if speaking directly to his crotch, she said, "Well, you _were_ concerned about my satisfaction; maybe, just to make sure, we could…"

Laughing, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom.


	12. Chapter 12

As they scrubbed each other clean, they did not have sex. For all the playing, and laughing, and rubbing, and fingering, and kissing, they might as well have. But Rio wanted to know if Eric had found Lander, and Eric wanted to know if Ailling had contacted Rio, and Eric said he had to go to the bar to send Sandy the report, and Rio said she had to go check Ailling's house, and between all the talking, they never got around to it.

As they dried each other off, Eric commented on their oversight and Rio promised him her undivided attention as soon as they both returned. Eric demanded they shake on the deal, making Rio laugh, because vampires disdained handshakes in the extreme, and suggested they seal it with a kiss. Eric complied and it was with great difficulty that they exited the house and went their separate ways (Eric warned her to be careful, and to illustrate how silly he was being, she warned him of the same thing, making him smile).

Eric pulled up to the front of Diablo's; since the bar was already closed, there were spaces close by. Eric got out, mulling over her powerful—no doubt magical—attraction, certainly aware that he was under her spell. He thought it was the best possible place in the world to be.

At the sound of smashing glass, Eric looked around. He scanned the parking lot. Toward the side of the building, he saw the bearish back of Lander, swinging a rusty length of pipe. With vampire speed, Eric zoomed to Lander's side, stopping in the empty parking space beside the car Lander was attacking. Glass crunched under his shoe, and Lander spun around, pipe raised.

He saw Eric and slouched, dropping the pipe with a dull clang. "What're you doing here, Eric?" Lander asked. His fangs glinted dully in the parking lot lights.

"I might ask you that," Eric replied flatly.

"I, ah… locked my keys in the car."

Eric's eyes flicked over the smashed windshield and windows. "That," he said bluntly, "is Al Ailling's car."

"Oops," said Lander, trying unsuccessfully to look sheepish.

"Does Sandy know you are out here smashing windows?"

"That lazy bitch," Lander spat. "She's not the boss of me, and neither are _you_!"

Eric cocked one perfect eyebrow at that; "Actually, I _am_. The King brought me here to broker this deal. If I tell him the bar is doing well most nights, you will be back where you started. As in, nowhere."

Lander quickly changed his tone. "Okay, look, Eric. I read your report. I need that thumb drive. If the King sees this hell hole's starting to pay off, he won't give it to me. I'll be stuck under him working off my time for eternity," he wheedled. "I hate that bastard, and I deserve my own money. I've worked hard for this opportunity."

Eric raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "You? Work hard? What I have heard is that you don't so much work hard as kill anyone who stands in your way. I have heard you've stood on the corpses just to get a leg up."

"Yeah, well, that Ailling bloodbag _was_ in my way."

"You _killed_ him?" Eric snarled, his body tense and his fangs full out.

"I drained him dry," Lander replied carelessly.

Eric bristled at the insubordination of this pup; Sandy could not possibly know about this or she would have had Lander on a short chain. Preferably silver. "May I ask where you left him?"

"You mayn't," Lander drawled, examining his fingernails.

In that split second of inattention, Eric lunged. He grabbed Lander by the shoulders, and kicked his feet out from under him. Lander went down with a roar, but Eric fell on him, smashing him in the face. Bones cracked. Blood spattered.

Lander howled his pain. He shoved Eric hard and rolled them over. Eric had not expected the younger vampire to show such strength, but he regretted taking the time to wonder, as Lander rolled away from him, grabbing the pipe still laying by the car, and swung it. Eric saw the pipe coming, and pulled back a leg to push off the pavement, but the pipe connected with his other outstretched leg. He heard his kneecap crunch milliseconds before the pain swallowed his body and he was flattened by it.

Through eyes squinting in agony, he saw Lander stagger to his feet, swinging the pipe up over his shoulders, aiming for Eric's head. Eric's warrior instincts rolled him over and away, but he slammed up against the car, trapped. He steeled himself for the blow, but before it could come, there was a flash of searing light that made his ears pop. His skin through his clothes felt licked by fire, and his hands flew up to cover his head. Darkness flooded the hole left by the light and colored spots danced in front of his vision.

No longer able to fight the pain, he collapsed on his back, vaguely aware of something fine and soft floating down on him. His thoughts were glazed with hurting and he briefly imagined it was snow.

"Northman?" Now he was hallucinating Rio's sweet voice. Then she touched him and he knew she was real and the blinding light had been her. He sighed and relaxed into his pain. "You're hurt," Rio stated in her usual matter-of-fact tone. "I thought I told you to be careful."

If he could have, Eric would have laughed. He felt her long fingers on his wrecked knee, and sucked air to shriek, but before he could get it out, a molten glow like thick sunlight spread through his entire body. It was like the afterglow from earth-shattering sex, but without all the lust, although he did have that rock-hard erection that exposure to Rio's true self left as its mark on him. Her fingers moved up to stroke him through his jeans, and the throbbing eased. "That was… deflating," he remarked sourly, but the act of speaking sucked grit in his mouth.

He sat up, spitting. "I must have licked the parking lot," he gagged.

Rio shook her head, swinging her long hair. She lifted a pinch of ash from the asphalt. "Nope," she released it to the soft desert breeze, "Vampire."

Eric goggled at her, even though he wasn't the goggling kind, then grinned. "Lander is… gone?" Rio nodded. "You… snuffed him?" Again, just a nod. Lander was dead, and Eric had not killed him. No penalty from the King. No tribute to Lander's maker. Eric whooped like a boy seeing his first naked girl, but that just sucked in more grit. He blew air through his lips, trying to remove the snowy ash that had been Lander. His eyes were burning, both from the intensity of Rio in her true form and the cinders that must be in them. He spoke a little hoarsely, "How did you get here?"

Rio shrugged and motioned toward a scrubby bush, "I came through the plants."

Eric coughed, both from surprise and the ashes in his throat. Somehow he knew she did not mean that she had walked among the plants, but rather that she somehow used them as transportation, sort of like a fairy subway system. Rio extended her hand to help him up and he took it. She gave a little pull and he was on his feet, testing his leg. No pain. It was healed. He looked at her in astonishment. "You're covered in ash," she observed, sweeping her cactus green eyes over him. He raised his hands to brush off, but before he could start, she blew air between her lips. It was the most gentle of puffs, but the ashes rose off him. They watched the ashes swirled away in the dry night air.

Rio turned her face to him, but her eyes landed on the smashed car. She scowled at it.

"Fairest," Eric spoke quietly, "I need to tell you… "

"Northman, you're always _needing_," Rio said, starting to tease him, but still looking at the car.

Eric took her face in his hands and looked at her. He nodded toward Ailling's car. Rio stared at him and went totally still. Realization of what had happened dawned on her face. Tears welled up in her eyes. Eric folded her in his embrace, holding her close. "No," she snuffled in his shirt. How did she always _know _everything?

She lifted her tear-streaked face to his; the parking lot lights glistened in the wet tracks. "Who?" she said, and Eric nodded toward the pipe on the ground. "Lander killed him."

Rio's face filled with horror. "Al was… killed by a vampire?"

Eric explained, "Lander read my report to Sandy; he knew that you and Al made enough of a successful team that it jeopardized his taking control of Diablo's."

"So he was going to kill you, too?"

Eric nodded. "If you hadn't come, he might have."

"Is that what I saw? Al dying through vampire eyes?"

"I truly don't know."

"Where is Al?" Rio asked woodenly.

In deference to her tears, Eric held back his glee. "Lander is in no shape to tell us," he said, trying to be solemn. "I did ask him, and took a pipe to the knee for it."

"I'm glad he's dead," she said with icy calm. "I'm glad I killed him." Then she collapsed against Eric, sobbing, "Al, not Al, oh Al noooooo…" Eric had never seen her like this, so young and broken. Her vibrant beauty, her inner strength made her seem ancient, wise, centered. He had never seen the girl of the mere few decades she was right now, stricken with grief.

Rio threw back her head and howled to the sky. The sound stunned his ears and he jumped back from her. She filled with rage. It boiled up in her like lava from the earth's core, super-heated and fizzing red. Her blinding light was leaking out around the edges of her body, dazzling him blind. The air was crackling like an electrical storm was approaching, only a storm would seem puny to what he felt coming. Rio's hair was floating up like gravity had been turned off. Eric dropped flat to the pavement, throwing his arms around his head. Things started burning.

Surrounding scrub burst into flames with swirling sparks. Clumps of grass incinerated into smoke. Pebbles melted and puddled. With a heaving screech, Diablo's tin roof buckled up to the sky and crashed back down inside the building, with the sound of dinosaurs being slaughtered. Flying glass and debris spun in small cyclones around the walls, and as the world went silent again, Eric was covered in a blanket of hot dust.

Eric carefully opened his eyes and raised his head. Rio was standing beside him, her tears spattering in the dust. He stood and reached to fold her in his arms, but she shook her head. "Take me home," she said, just barely audible above the pings and ticks of metal cooling.


	13. Chapter 13

Eric held her in his arms. He wasn't remotely fond of humans' irrepressible ability to cry, but Rio's weeping was different than what he remembered of her mother's tears; Rio cried like a thunderstorm, full of gray clouds and lightning. Eric relished the wildness of Louisiana storms—not hurricanes, of course, which were damaging to business, but all the crashing and booming suited his temperament. Lots of show backed up with lots of power.

As he held her, Eric's thoughts cast back over the past few days—had it only been _days?_ With Ailling dead and the bar destroyed, he would be free to return to Louisiana. Oh, the King would likely huff and puff a bit, but with Sandy never receiving his report, and Filipe knowing nothing of Rio, it would likely be a simple conversation to convince the King that this particular ill wind had never blown any good—or whatever that strange human expression was. With Lander to blame for all the mess and no one to prove any different, Eric could go home with his reputation intact. He wanted Rio to come with him; no matter how long it took to convince her, he would not leave without her. He loved her and he would never let her face Niall alone.

When Rio had finally exhausted herself and was reduced to snuffling, Eric's shirt was soaked. He put a finger under her chin and tipped up her face. Even in the aftermath of such emotion, she was lovely—not at all red or puffy, just… wet. But wet like leaves after a summer shower, her eyes shimmering liquidly like dripping ferns and vines.

With aching tenderness, Eric kissed Rio's face dry. Her lashes, black and spiked with her tears, lay on her delicate cheekbones and he licked them dry as well. Her lips were reddened by sobbing, and he kissed each corner of her mouth.

He lay back on the big couch, pulling her on top of him. He stroked her back like he was calming an orphaned animal, humming in his chest to soothe her. She lay on him limply. As the vibrations from inside him began to fill her up, she lifted her hand to his face, letting one finger trace the nobility of his brow and nose, the sculpted perfection of his mouth, the strong set of his chin. She noticed when his crooning became his rumble of joy and arousal, and she shifted enough to unbutton his shirt.

Slipping her hand inside, Rio gently scratched his smooth, marble skin through his blond chest hair. Eric sighed and slipped his own hand down her dress, but his fingers were slow and gentle. She felt him growing hard under her and unzipped his jeans to free him. She hitched up one leg and slid onto him, and they lay connected together while exploring each other's skin with unhurried care.

Neither of them knew which one felt their mounting need first. Eric held Rio and rolled them onto their sides, and she lifted her leg to rest on his hip. They moved against each other, and the love they made was meltingly tender. They came with whispers, not screams, and sighed their finish into each other's mouths.

"I love you, my Fairest," Eric said simply.

"And I you, Eric," Rio echoed.

Eric shivered—it was the first time outside of sex she had called him by his name—and pressed against her, drawing her tight to him. He had lost all the others; this one he would never let go.

Eric rubbed his cheek on her shoulder. Up on the couch's back, he saw her hat, with the bronze figures he had noticed from the first, gleaming dully on their leather thong. He pulled it closer to study, and asked her what they were.

Rio touched the little figures with reverence. "Each was given me by my teachers. Kind of like a graduation gift, I guess. This one you know already"—she touched one charm, and Eric could see it resembled a sword—oddly, he _did_ feel as if he knew it, but in a different way than she meant… "I got it when I mastered the element of fire (he thought she had certainly mastered _him_, but he didn't interrupt). This"—here she fingered what appeared to be a tiny cup—"when I mastered water. This one"—Eric thought from the catch in her voice that she might cry again as she touched three linked circles—"is the stages of womanhood. I got it when I first menstruated and was taught the arts of love making."

Eric touched a finger to the circles too, and said, "You must have been a star pupil."

She smiled wistfully, and turned the hat so he could see a five-pointed charm: "Actually, the _star_ is for love, for uniting the spirit under all the elements. It is sort of my PhD." She hesitated and said brokenly, "Niall gave it to me."

Eric looked at her, feeling his tenderness for her fill him with caring and concern. He had not felt these things in a long time, and he did not take them for granted.

"I would have you with me," Eric's words startled him, but he knew he was speaking his heart. He sat up, taking her hand and holding it over the center of his chest. "Rio, I know my heart no longer beats, but in my spirit, it beats for you."

Her eyes turned every shade of green he had ever seen. She whispered, "Eric…"

She made his name sound like a song only she could sing.

"You saved me." Eric said.

"I had to," Rio shrugged.

"Share blood with me," he said.

Rio's eyes dilated. "I can't! You know I… can't."

That stung Eric and he hung his head, "You don't love me then." It wasn't a question.

Rio's hands flew to cradle his face, "Oh but I do. I _do_ love you, Eric."

"Then why…?" Eric almost whined, before anger started building in him and he thrust himself to his feet. "Is it Niall?"

"Yes."

"You won't bond with me because of Niall?!"

"Yes."

"Always Niall! I will kill him and you will be mine!"

"NO!" Rio was on her feet. "Yes." She shook her head, swinging her hair until it covered her face, and from inside its grandeur she whispered, "I don't know."

In a blink, Eric stepped to her and swept back her hair, cupping her chin in his hand, and lifting her eyes to his, which were the blue of the sky and the ocean. His love shone from them like sunlight piercing storm clouds.

"Then bond with me. You will have my strength." Rio smiled a bit at that and Eric realized he was being ridiculous: only an hour ago he had seen her raze Diablo's. He tried again. "I will be able to protect you. With our bond, you will never have to be away from my side. And with my blood in you, I will always be able to find you."

Rio nodded inside his large, strong, cool hands, "I love the way that sounds."

Eric's eyes blazed. "Then you'll do it? You will bond with me?"

Exhausted from the emotional whirlwind that had engulfed them these few days, and wanting his love more than she had ever wanted anything, including her freedom, Rio nodded again.

Trembling with emotion, Eric kissed her and swept her up in his a powerful embrace. He pressed his mouth to her hair and said, "I promise to always love you and protect you and keep you safe. I promise my life in honor to you. I promise to forever be yours."

Rio looked at him for a long moment. He could see the love swimming in the depthless pools of her green eyes. "And I promise to be yours."

Eric was vibrating with happiness; it threatened to overwhelm him. His mind dithered, going into overdrive, spinning out of control. Rio must have sensed his complete loss of focus, because she said, "We should leave Nevada. Now that Al is… gone, and my lust for you"—Eric rumbled and she smiled and pressed herself even tighter to him—"has become love, Niall will find me here."

Her words brought Eric's practicality to the fore, and he stepped back. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain.

"Mmm," Eric said almost to himself. "I can protect you better on my own territory, where I am on familiar ground, with those who owe me fealty on alert." He looked around the room and asked, "Can you tune my house to us as you have done here?"

She merely smiled at him, "I thought you said you weren't ever silly?"

He grinned at her, a disconcerting sight, since his fangs had run out in his excitement; he was positively gleeful at the prospect of bonding with this extraordinary being _and_ fighting the battle of his life.

"Fairest, I must go. I have to inform the King of my leaving and make our travel arrangements." Rio looked at his mouth, waiting for more. He knew what she needed to hear, so he said, "I will return for you as soon as I am able; I won't be long." Rio bobbed her head; she understood.

Eric took her face between his hands and touched his lips to hers, putting all his love in the kiss. He felt hers flowing back. When he drew apart, she lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing her middle finger between them. He raised his eyebrows, questioning. "Bite, a little," she requested, and he pressed his fangs into her finger. He watched her eyes as he sucked in a bit of her blood—they darkened from emerald to the color of snow-line evergreens, and he thought wistfully of his homeland, before her blood went down his throat. It enflamed him, made him high, and filled him with wild love.

Rio leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth, right next to her finger, and sighed, "To remember me by," before pulling her finger away. She sucked it through her own pouting lips, taking her blood and his saliva with it, watching him all the while. He wondered how anyone who looked like such an innocent angel could be so wicked.

"As if I could forget," Eric smiled, and was gone.

Rio climbed the stairs. She felt old and tired. She sat on the floor, pulling her guitar to her. As her fingers plucked random notes, her thoughts played tag with each other: Niall could surely feel her happiness and contentment by now. If not that, the pleasures she experienced through Eric's extraordinary lovemaking would be a giant red flag waving in front of Niall's bullish essence. He was certainly coming for her. She could not quite sense him yet, but she knew she would soon. Putting distance between them might just buy her time to… might buy her some time.

Niall would kill Eric. Of that, she had no doubt. Eric's insistence on protecting her would only hasten his death (and this time, he would be well and truly dead; there wouldn't even be a body to mourn). Rio briefly entertained the thought of waiting for Eric, talking to him, explaining. But there was no explanation he would accept. He would tell her matter-of-factly that he would protect her from anything—he would believe he could—and that would be that. He could not forget her and he would not leave her.

The idea of Eric gone from the world wasn't conceivable. As long as she knew he was somewhere, charging through life with all the vitality of his Viking heritage, she could stand any fate.

With the sound of a butterfly sighing, Rio stood up. She put on her scarred suede jacket, swung her guitar over her shoulder and went downstairs.

She took her hat from the back of the couch, fingering the talismans on the leather thong. Then she twisted her hair into a rope, and tucked it under the crown of her hat. She looked around the room. She was having trouble recognizing it. Nothing would ever look the same. She stepped out the door, pausing long enough to lay her palm flat on the weathered wood. Then she got in her truck and drove away.

_8888888_

An hour later, Eric swung his Corvette to the curb in front of Rio's house. He grabbed his leather satchel of belongings from the seat beside him and stowed it in the trunk, leaving it open for Rio's things (what little she had—he had noticed she led a spare life). He bounded onto the porch, not hesitating for the door to swing open for him, and was brought up short when it didn't. Eric raised an automatic hand to knock, then his brain caught up. He scowled at the door. He stepped off the porch, and looked at the house. The windows looked… dark. Opaque. Dead.

"Fairest?" Eric whispered. But he knew.

He threw back his head and howled like a wolf: _RIOoooo!_

He stood for a moment, his cry echoing back to him unanswered. A tear trickled down his cheek. Then he got in his car. She couldn't be gone. She simply… could… not… be… gone. His grip was distorting the steering wheel. She said she would be his bonded. She promised. He slammed his fist into the dashboard, smashing his digital music player.

Eric cursed. He didn't know a lot about fairies, but they always kept their word. They _always _kept their… then, slowly, a smile tweaked up the corners of his sculpted lips. He popped the car into gear and sped off toward the rising sun.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Here is the epilogue for _Fairest of the Fae_—thanks so much for following my story. As some of you already know, _Better Off Dead_ and _Fairest _will come together in a third book, _Spilling the Charms,_ currently in outline form. I hope to have chapters loading soon after the New Year and finished well before the "real" book 9 comes out in early May. Obviously, _Charms_ will make more sense if you have read the first two!

(And thanks to those of you who helped me see that I confused people with my "rising sun" analogy—I meant only that Eric was driving east, since it was Rio herself who suggested they leave Nevada and go to Louisiana; but I see now that the whole "meeting the sun" thing with vamps could be worrisome. I will work on a rephrasing of all that for a future edit. It is so helpful to have your comments!)

* * *

EPILOGUE

Bill Compton answered the phone when it rang; his wife Sookie watched him as he listened for a moment. She felt his irritation through their shared blood as he handed her the phone without speaking a word. Raising an eyebrow at him, she held the phone to her ear. Eric's voice said, "My lover."

Sookie almost snapped at him—he had not called her that for decades, nor was she going to accept it from him now—but something in his tone stopped her.

"What's wrong?"

There was silence on the other end, but Sookie's vampire hearing heard…

"Eric, are you… crying?" Sookie asked in astonishment, trying to remember if she could ever recall Eric shedding a tear.

Eric inhaled shakily. "I… I found her."

Now Sookie was truly confused. She knew Pam had parted ways with Eric some years before, amicably of course. But was Pam missing? She asked, "Who, Eric?" She could feel Bill's eyes on her and his concern came through their bond.

Eric heaved a huge sigh and said, "Your daughter."

Sookie's knees gave way and Bill was there with vampire speed to catch her and put her in a chair. Tears leapt to Sookie's eyes as she struggled to speak: "_What?_ What did you say?"

"I said," began Eric with a hint of his usual short fuse, "I have found your daughter."

"Oh my god. Where? Where is she?" Sookie was sobbing in earnest now, barely able to hold the phone. Bill was kneeling beside her, his strength flooding her, his eyes dark with concern.

Eric forced his voice to be steady. "She is gone. I am afraid Niall has stolen her again."

Sookie felt her anger rising; Eric could always get under her fingernails like this. "Eric, you haven't called me in a year, and now you're playing some sort of game with me?" she demanded.

"Sadly, my lover, this is no game," Eric stated flatly and she knew he was not playing with her. Even in her confusion and distress, she could feel his sadness behind his words. "If Niall does not have her yet, she may be trying to find you," Eric told her.

"She knows about me?"

"Yes. I told her. I have a picture of her and some information to send you. Put Bill on so I can get the upload link."

"Okay."

"And Sookie?"

"Yes, Eric?"

"May I come to you?"

"Come to me? You mean to England?"

"Yes. It would mean much to me if I could… if we could wait together."

Sookie hesitated. "You want to… wait with me… and Bill… to see if my daughter shows up in England?"

"Yes."

"Do I want to know why?"

"I would prefer to explain in person."

There was something in his voice of that night so long ago, when she'd found him running half naked and lost; he was under a witches spell, had amnesia, and was completely terrified. The mighty Viking had clung to her for strength and understanding, and she had protected and cared for him. She was swirling in memories, plus a rising hope. Her daughter was alive, perhaps on her way to England.

Sookie heaved a sigh, knowing she was going to regret it, and said, "Sure, come on ahead." Then she handed the phone to Bill.


End file.
